It All Comes Tumbling Down
by Darkest Desire
Summary: Harry Potter;the perfect little savior, the convenient scapegoat whenever the wizarding world has a problem, or needs someone to blame. They’ve condemned him to Azkaban. It’s hard to survive, even harder to remain the same, naïve person that went in.
1. A Place for my Head

Summary: Harry Potter-the perfect little savior...the convenient scapegoat whenever the wizarding world has a problem, or needs somebody to blame. They've condemned him...to Azkaban. It's a hard place to survive, even harder still to come out as the same, naïve person that went in. 

Disclaimer: I own nothing; if I did, I would be rich and famous and wouldn't be writing fan fiction.

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CHAPTER ONE: A PLACE FOR MY HEAD

It's all so god damned surreal. I sit here, strapped and chained and magically bonded to this thick wooden chair that has been the bane of so many criminals and Death Eaters before me and only one thought goes through my mind 'How the fuck can this be happening.' I sit impassively as the jury steps back into the courtroom after their lengthy deliberation and reads off the list of my alleged crimes before coming to the verdict. Only one word stands out in my mind as it resounds about the suddenly silent courtroom. "Guilty."

_Guilty_?! I feel like laughing...in fact, I think I am. Two days spent in a holding cell, with the dreaded guards of Azkaban, the dementers...God how I _hate_ them, has really done a number on my already questionable sanity. I can hear the laughter now, maniacal and hollow, echoing in the large enclosure, though it seems as though it's a long ways off. Perhaps I should have tried the insanity plea; I'm sure they don't doubt that I'm crazy now. Here I am being led off to the Azkaban hell-hole for the rest of my miserable life and all I can do is laugh. Hell, maybe I _am_ crazy. I now understand why Sirius laughed as he was dragged away. It is the laugh of a righteous man accused of the sins of his adversary, framed for that which he is trying to fight against. It's desperate and helpless and yes...somewhat crazed. But I'm not crazy, _they_ are.

They are the ones that have just condemned a 15-year-old boy, the boy-who-lived no less, to death or a lifetime of physical and mental torture. I barely survived two days with the dementers. I don't think I can take anymore. I have no animagus form to shield myself from them nor any means to escape. I'll probably die in there. Then they'll be sorry.

I'm the _only_ one who can defeat Voldemort. From what I understand, if _I_ die, _he_ becomes nearly invincible. Of course, they don't know this, hardly anyone does. Oh well. I really could care less. I used to, care that is...but it seems to be more trouble than it's worth. I care now only for myself, since no one else seems to deem me worthy enough to actually care about my well-being. If the world wishes to condemn themselves to death, then let _them_ deal with the consequences. It's not _my_ fucking problem anymore.

They had piled up all their hopes on me, expecting me to hold up the world like Atlas without the strength of anyone but myself. They didn't do it because they liked me, although at one time I thought that this was so, but because they themselves hadn't the guts to do anything about it. Instead, they put the burden of their problems on _me_, the boy who had saved them once before and was as good a candidate as any to do it again, and continued to run around like chickens with their heads cut off. They placed the responsibility to save the world on me, but when things got bad, they just as easily pointed their fingers and placed the blame where once their hopes had rested.

Can't they take responsibility for _anything_? Do they only care about _themselves_? I could still picture their faces in my mind's eye, and although the accusatory glares and hateful snarls of the courtroom occupants I saw right before being led (or more accurately dragged) away were painful, they were almost a welcome distraction from the oppressive, sullen walls as I was led to the cell that would soon be my "home" for the rest of my pathetic existence.

I had never contemplated suicide before, but death seemed a welcome release from the painful torment that would be all my life, if you could call it that, would consist of from now on. It's over; I'm through. There is nothing to look forward to, no reason to hope for anything more than death, for that was the only wish I might actually be granted. Perhaps I could escape...but after Sirius had done just that, they upped the security; it would be practically impossible for me to get out without help, and there was no one left who would support me in such an endeavor.

I've never felt so hopeless, so alone, such utter despair. As I was thrown into my cell and onto the cold, unrelenting cement floor, the doors clanking shut with a resounding finality behind me, a blind panic set into my heart. I was trapped; I was suffocating; I had to get out. No matter how irrational my thoughts, I knew that I could not allow myself to be trapped in this desolate cell for any length of time. I started to hyperventilate, my eyes frantically searching for a way out as my hands desperately clenched at my sullen robes, wanting something to hold onto as the world I had known slowly slipped from my grasp to be lost forever.

I bitterly observed the dark, cold cell, ironically mirroring the turn my life has taken for the worst. Although it was undoubtedly day outside, nothing within my sight reflected it. There was nothing to connect me to the world outside, not even a small, barred window. It wasn't the cell itself that frightened me, I had lived in the cramped up space under the stairs at the Dursleys for ten long years, but the fact that this approximately ten foot by ten foot space now encompassed the entire sphere of my world. That thought, that realization terrified me.

No matter how bad my situation had been in the past, it was only portions of my life, small bouts of time in the long run, and always with the knowledge that I would be let out soon. I survived because I knew that no matter how bad things got, they were liable to change sooner or latter. That's why my current situation is so much worse. This is it. This is all I'll ever know again. There will be no more good times to have and cling onto during times of darkness, all I have are memories...memories that the dementors will soon steal away from me.

My situation is hopeless, and, even if I _could_ get out, I would be a fugitive without a home and without friends. But, it would still be better than here. After all, I don't belong here. Azkaban is for criminals of the worst degree, but I've done _nothing_ wrong. I don't deserve this. All of the hate and bitterness for my current predicament only served to strengthen my resolve. I don't care what it takes, or how long, but I _will_ be free of this place before I die, if only to extract revenge upon those who put me here.

I can't live in here, but I don't want to die, not yet. I'm only 15; I have so much of my life ahead of me. Or at least, I _did_. They stole everything from me. I gave them everything I could, but they weren't satisfied with that. They had to take it all away; my friends, my freedom, any hope I might have had for the future; and stick me all alone to rot in this cell until some twisted sense of mercy granted me release from it in the from of death. They have no right to do this.

But looking around me, I see no way out. No way to escape. No way to free myself from this hopeless path my life has taken. Perhaps, if I wait..._something_ will come. Some sort of plan has _got_ to come along. Even here there has to be hope, because if there's not, then I might as well already be dead. I may have to wait...weeks, months, years. But right now I have all the time in the world, and I might as well use it trying to escape from this utter desolation than pining over the life that I've left behind and, even if I do manage to escape, can never return to.

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Author's note: If you liked this story so far, please review and let me know. If no one likes it, then I'm not going to bother writing more, so please tell me what you think. Constructive criticism is welcome. 


	2. By Myself

Summary: Harry Potter-the perfect little savior...the convenient scapegoat whenever the wizarding world has a problem, or needs somebody to blame. They've condemned him...to Azkaban. It's a hard place to survive, even harder still to come out as the same, naïve person that went in. 

Disclaimer: I own nothing; if I did, I would be rich and famous and wouldn't be writing fan fiction.

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CHAPTER TWO: BY MYSELF

I don't know how long it's been. It feels like months, maybe even years. Realistically, I know it's probably only been a couple of weeks. I find myself desperately clinging to the last shreds of my sanity, even at this relatively early point of my imprisonment. I used to think I was strong, mentally if not physically; but already Azkaban is breaking me. Although I am no longer the person that I was before I was ostrisized from the wizarding world, I haven't completely lost myself to the dementors...yet. I know it's only a matter of time; I can't hold on forever. But maybe if I change myself, become someone else, someone immune to the terrors of this island fortress, then I can keep myself from becoming a hollow, wraith-like shell.

The process has already started; I've already changed so much. I am wiser, so much wiser than the naive, little boy I was before all this, though not any better off for it. I'm cynical and bitter, not like the happy-go-lucky, the-worlds-worth-fighting-for facade I used to wear. But what's the point of wearing a mask in here? It's not like anyone else can see me; it's not like a have a reptutation to uphold.

My new self (I still have to think of a name for him) has helped me see the world and everything that happened before the cell in a new light; though perhaps a shadow would be a better description, nothing about me is _light_ anymore. It's helped me see the way I was manipulated and the illusion that obscured my vision like fog has now been blown away. I didn't see it then, back before I changed. I didn't see the way they played me like the fool that I was; they all did it. But now my inner Slytherin has been unleashed, the only part of my former self to survive, and there is no way to supress these morbid thoughts; not like I'd want to anyways. The anger and hate is all the dementors will allow me to feel, and I want to feel something; even being filled with depressing thoughts is better than the emptyness that has been threatening to overwhelm me these past...however long its been.

Besides, its easy to hate them. I hate them all for what they did to me, and rightfully so. They fed me lies when they needed me to fight for them, only telling me what they thought would shift my opinion in their favor. Used me like a little puppet. Made me so desperate for love and acceptance that I would do anything to please. They are the ones that placed me with the Dursleys. They must have known what they were like. How could they not have? My Hogwart's letter was addressed to the cupboard under the stairs for fuck's sake; that means they knew about the abuse, the neglect--and yet did nothing to stop it.

They neglected me in their own way. I never even knew about the wizarding world until I turned eleven and was accepted to Hogwarts. They claim the Dursleys were supposed to tell me, that it had all been written in a letter they left with me when they abandoned me to my "relatives." Well, that's just _great_. A _letter_. Yeah, _that _would have made things _soooo_ much better. There is so much that they have done to me, but abandoning me to the horrors of Azkaban is, by far, the worst. I try not to think about it, the events that led up to my imprisonment; they're still too fresh, still too painful, but I am reminded each day when I find myself waking up all alone here in this horrible cell.

Not only did they abandon me, but they poisened me as well. Set me up. Made it so that I would be _sure_ to get placed in Gryffindor. Couldn't have their little _Golden Boy_ end up in the nasty, _evil_ Slytherin house, now _could_ they? They ensured the prejudices. Couldn't have me become another Voldemort. No, but they _did_ need someone to fight against him, and who better than the one person Voldemort hadn't been able to kill and had almost ended his miserable life, even if I was only a year old and truthfully had nothing to do with the occurence? I didn't mind back then. Voldemort killed people, he killed my parents, he's obviously evil. It was a good enough reason for me. I didn't think twice about the fact that Voldemort was the enemy. The world was black and white, and I was all the happier for it. Of course, the "light side" had probably killed plenty of people as well, they fought in the war too, but they purposefully failed to mention that, and I was too ignorant to realize that they had placed me in blinders, like a horse, so that I wouldn't get distracted from the path they intended me to follow.

They all did it to me, they all decieved me, but Dumbledor the most. I trusted him. I had complete faith that he wouldn't let anything happen to me; after all, he cared for me, right? Yeah _right_. I trusted him...and look where it got me. A one way ticket to Azkaban. Ha! It appears that I haven't completely lost my sense of humor, even if my laugh is now more like a derisive snort. For some reason I find this whole twisted situation horribly ammusing in a morbid and sadistic way. I wouldn't have, a year ago...a month ago? I don't know how long it's been.

It scares me, not knowing. The wizarding world could be in total chaous, in a fucking uproar, and I wouldn't be any the wiser. Don't get me wrong; I don't actually _care_ about those two-faced, backstabbing bastards. Why should I? But still...it disturbs me that I'm hidden away in this God awful cell, oblivious to the world at large; I don't even know what day it is...or what month. I feel helpless, like at any moment someone could come in here and off me; one simple flick of a wand and an "avada kedavra" and that's it, bye-bye boy-who-lived. There are plenty of people I know of who would want to do such a thing and, I'm sure, many more that I _don't_ know of. Anyways, I've already established that I don't want to die; not like this--not in _here_.

I've been working on escape plans, but the only thing I've got so far is: _There is no way to escape_. Perhaps if I was an animagus or...or what? I'm a fifteen year old boy who hasn't even finished school yet. It's hopeless. What's the use in trying? What am I going to do--outsmart the hundred or so God damned aurors that are stalking the place like busy little bees swarming about their hive and ready to attack at any minute? Or, perhaps I'll just learn how to become an animagus like Sirius, it only took him _three years_ to learn how--and that was with the help of his friends and books--God! I wouldn't even know where to _begin_. And Sirius--God how I miss him!--it took him twelve fucking _years_ to escape, even _with_ his animagus ability.

I was stupid to think I could ever possibly escape. Sure, I've faced Voldemort (I'm not even sure how many times anymore) but this; _this_ is different. Voldemort was only one wizard, a powerful wizard, an experienced wizard, but--even with the handful of death eaters he had with him at his resurrection--it cannot compare to this. Now there are hundreds of wizards who would be sent out at the drop of a hat if they even thought I was _trying_ to escape. I'd have no one to turn to even if I could somehow get out, though the chances of _that_ happening are about the same as Snape dressing up like Neville's gran and dancing the hula. Now _that_ would be a sight. Azkaban would be _worth_ escaping just for that alone. But what would I do if I got out? I'd have no where to go, no money, _nothing_. Sure, I'd have my freedom...but what would I do with it?

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Author's Note: First off, thanx a bunch to everyone who reviewed! I've never gotten this many reviews on a story, and it means a lot to me that you like it. To answer your questions:

Blue Squirtle15: This is not, I repeat NOT going to be one of the typical "Harry is sent to prison, gets amazing powers then escapes and everyone is sorry." First off, Harry is not suddenly going to become the best wizard since Merlin himself and suddenly be all powerful and able to blast his way out of Azkaban in a jiffy. It's not that I don't like those kinds of stories, but, let's face it, they aren't very realistic. Secondly, don't worry; this is not going to be one of those stories where everyone is sorry and, because Harry is just such a wonderful person, he automatically forgives them. Trust me, don't expect this story to be like any of the "Harry is abandoned and sent to Azkaban" ones that you've ever seen.

Crystalline: The issue of why Harry was sent to Azkaban isn't going to be addressed 'til a little later in the story. It isn't because of anything that happened in the actual books, though, I can tell you that much. This is a 6th year fic, and everything that happened in OoTP has happened in this story. Of course, more has happened since then (like over the summer, etc.) that result in Harry getting thrown in Azkaban and everything that you've seen in the story. Ron and Hermione? They'll eventually come into play, but as of now, they are at Hogwarts and are going through their 6th year and preparing for the war with Voldemort. Everything will be explained eventually...it just might take a while.

Serena24: I can't exactly tell you what will happen that will result in Harry's leaving Azkaban, but I will say that he doesn't use wandless magic to do so. In my mind, it doesn't make sense that the Ministry of Magic wouldn't put up safeguards against things like wandless magic. Azkaban is a highly secure wizard prison and, especially after Sirius's escape, would be extremely difficult to escape from (I imagine it to be something like Alkatraz--not too sure on the spelling there, I'm probably way off--only even worse because of magical barriers and such.) You'll just have to wait and see what happens ;)

To everyone: Make sure to tune in for the next chapter where Harry finally gets out (at least that's what I'm planning on happening) and meets up with a few old accountances. Finally, a couple things are going to get explained!


	3. Points of Authority

Summary: Harry Potter-the perfect little savior...the convenient scapegoat whenever the wizarding world has a problem, or needs somebody to blame. They've condemned him...to Azkaban. It's a hard place to survive, even harder still to come out as the same, naïve person that went in. 

Disclaimer: I own nothing; if I did, I would be rich and famous and wouldn't be writing fan fiction.

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CHAPTER THREE: POINTS OF AUTHORITY

I've started keeping track of the days as they go by. I found a small stone in one of the corners of my cell, over behind the cot-like excuse for a bed. It takes a while to make any indent on the thick stone walls of my cell, but I'm tired of sitting and thinking all day and any distraction I can get, any other way to pass the time, is certainly welcome. I know there have got to be at least a hundred wards and such on this God forsaken fortress that has recently become my home; I'm just glad they don't have one against making marks on the walls. I remember a movie I saw once when I was at the Dursley's; it was about a man who was wrongfully accused and dug his way out of a muggle prison, dug right through the prison wall. Of course, it took him over a decade to do and even then he had to carefully plan the rest of his escape. Even if the wards permitted me to do such a thing, it would take me at least _ten years_ to do; by that time, I'll probably have been driven over the edge of sanity.

I know I'm slowly being driven crazy; I can't help it. I've only been here 14 days since I started counting, only two weeks (I know because I make a mark each time they bring my meal; which consists of a meager portion of stale bread and a cup of dirty water)--but I don't think I can take much more. I find myself, at times, losing all grasp on reality. Just yesterday I found myself talking to a _spider_ as if it was an old friend of mine. Next thing you know I'll be talking to my marking rock.

The dementors aren't bothering me as much anymore. I guess I've completely given up any hope I had of somehow, miraculously escaping. I've stopped daydreaming about what it would be like to be back at Hogwarts, back in the outside world...I've finally come to terms with the harsh, cold reality of this cell. There are no longer any positive emotions left for the dementors to suck out of me. The dementors may have stopped bothering me...but the ministry officials sure as hell haven't, or at least they haven't stopped _trying_ to bother me. By now, I've learned that it's too much trouble letting them get a rise out of me; I no longer care what they say, or think concerning me. Most of it is lies anyways, so it's easy to disregard.

I think they're surprised I'm still coherent, although I'm not sure that assesment is entirely true. But, for what it's worth, I am one of the sanest inmates here. Sometimes, when they lift the silencing charms around my cell I can hear them; screaming, moaning, sobbing, mumbling incoherent jibberish. It frightens me to think that in a couple of years I could be reduced to that state--here physically, but mentally gone.

Maybe it'd be easier that way. At least then I wouldn't be plagued by the painful memories that haunt me day and night. Besides, what point is there in being sane if it will come to no use to you? Perhaps insanity, like death, is a mercy in this place where darkness abounds and life holds no meaning nor joy.

I stand up and began pacing the length of my cell, the now familiar path almost calming my frenzied thoughts. I stride about clockwise; twelve steps, turn right, twelve steps, turn right, nine steps, go around the cot...and so on and so forth. By now I could probably walk it in my sleep. I wouldn't be surprised if I wear a hole along the outer edges of the enclosure before...before what?...before I die, I suppose.

I wonder if anyone would care--if I died that is. Probably not. After all, no one seemed to care that I was thrown into Azkaban in the first place; why should they care if I die? Perhaps they would care; they probably consider death too merciful for the likes of me. But what do they know? They know nothing about what _really_ happened; if they did, I wouldn't be here. I'm surprised they didn't sentence me with the dementer's kiss. Maybe they wanted me to feel remorse, or guilt, for "my sins."

I sit down in the nearest corner--the one farthest from my cell door--as I hear footsteps approach. The silencing charms have been removed again, I wonder why? It's not mealtime, so...hmm...oh well, I suppose I'll find out soon enough. I let my head fall limply against the wall, as a glazed look is forced over my eyes, I wrap my arms around my knees, curled up into an upright fetus position. Best not to let them think I'm too lucid.

The clumping of boots against the stone floor suddenly stops as what I can only assume to be a guard pauses outside my cell. A few muttered spells disables the wards disallowing entry to my cell and with a jingle of keys and the click of a deadlock sliding to an unlocked position, the heavy metal door creaks open on rusty hinges. Hmm...you'd think they'd have spells to keep the doors from rusting, wouldn't you?

I'm broken out of my somewhat inane line of thought as a ministry official steps inside "my room" hastily looking around the small space with disgust before his eyes are invariably drawn to me. I pretend not to notice his presence, opting instead to stare at a crack on the wall oppisite to where I'm sitting. The ministry worker takes his time looking me over, undoubtably trying to assess my mental soundness as accurately as he can in these few moments and taking in my painfully thin, grimy appearance.

He hesitates a moment before speaking, his eyes never leaving my form. "I'm afraid we might be too late." His voice is quiet, though it easily carries throughout the room and into the hallway where more ministry officials are assumably waiting. His words puzzle me...too late...too late for what?

Perhaps they wanted to question me again. Insanity would certainly prohibit them from getting any worthwhile answers in that case, and they surely had come to the conclusion that I was, in fact, insane. Just as well, I don't think I could handle any more of their "questioning." All they ever did was rough me up when I didn't give them the answers they were looking for. They had come to the conclusion that I was immune to veretriserum after administering it and still getting insistence of my innocence. I didn't even know immunity to veretriserum was possible.

My attention was diverted again as a voice drifted in from the hall, a voice oddly reminiscent of Arthur Weasley's, though the chances of _him_ being here were slim to none. "Either way, he's coming with us. We'll take him to Saint Mungoo's if we have to, but you know we can't leave him here." Now this was interesting; they were planning on taking me out? Perhaps I was dreaming...or halucinating, for surely this couldn't be real.

"You two, take him to the showers and clean him up. After you're done take him to Checave's office to have him evaluated. Mr. Weasley and I will start filling out the release forms." Two more men enter the cell and head straight towards me, each grabbing one of my arms and hauling me to my feet roughly. I allow them to do so, stumbling a bit as the drag me out the door and past the ministry official who first entered my cell and a red-headed middle aged man--Mr. Weasley. I can hardly believe he's here, and although perhaps it should, the thought brings me no comfort whatsoever. Stupid betraying bastard.

I'm led to a wing of the facility that I am sure I've never been to before and shoved through a door into what looks to be a communal shower room. Funny that I've never seen it before; you'd think they'd at least let me bathe once in a while. But no...horrible, little murderers like me don't get any form of decency.

A spell is spoken by the guard to my right and my clothes are magicked from my body into a sloppy pile on the floor. Cold water assults my abused body hitting my back like pellets and effectively drenching me. I probably look like a drowned rat, but at the moment I truly couldn't care less. I don't know why, but it appears that my stay at Azkaban has been cut short. The thought of leaving brings a whirlwind of emotions cascading through my mind, some good, some bad. Why are they letting me out; is this some sort of trick? Well...if it is, then the trick's on them.

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Author's Note: Once again, thanx to everyone who reviewed! I'm glad that everyone seems to be enjoying my fic, dark and angsty as it is. I know in the last chapter I said that "Harry finally gets out...and meets up with a few old accountances," and that "finally, a couple things are going to get explained," and I'm sorry that this chapter doesn't contain much of what was promised. Well...at least Harry is on his way out, though I'm sure everyone was expecting something a lot more exciting and innovative than what ended up happening. I guess Harry didn't so much "escape" as get released, but...well, whatever. Has the wizarding world finally realized the mistake they made concerning Harry, or is something else going on? I guess you'll have to find out next chapter. And trust me, the reason why Harry was placed into Azkaban in the first place will be explained...maybe not next chapter, but soon. I don't just want to throw it out there, I want to fit it into the plotline so that it flows. I'm still working on the details of the whole misconception myself, so it might take a while before everything is finally revealed. In the next chapter I'm planning on having Harry meet up with his former friends, and Harry's thoughts about the whole situation will actually be voiced aloud to those who hurt him most. I've already started writing parts of the chapter...now to make them fit together properly. Oh, and, my plans are, of course, subject to change; I have a vague outline for the story, but until I actually sit down and start typing I really don't know where it's going to go. I didn't really go back through this and reread it, so there might be some spelling mistakes, gramatical errors, etc. that I missed, and I'm sorry for that. Perhaps I should get a beta. Would anybody be interested? Anyways...I guess that's all; I'd better stop before this author's note becomes longer than the actual chapter. Well, I hope you liked it and that it lives up to your expectations, feel free to criticize (as long as it's constructive). Chow! 


	4. Crawling

Summary: Harry Potter-the perfect little savior...the convenient scapegoat whenever the wizarding world has a problem, or needs somebody to blame. They've condemned him...to Azkaban. It's a hard place to survive, even harder still to come out as the same, naïve person that went in. 

Disclaimer: I own nothing; if I did, I would be rich and famous and wouldn't be writing fan fiction.

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CHAPTER FOUR: CRAWLING

I'm clean for the first time in what I can only assume to be over a month and the clothes I am wearing are no longer the torn and soiled ones that I first arrived in. I can't deny the fact that I feel much better than I did a mere hour ago. My hope has been rekindled...but they can't really be letting me out, can they?

The two guards, now carrying me down a dimly lit hallway to only God knows where, have done nothing but dutifully go about their work; they've been no help in my quest to figure out what the hell is going on. No one has bothered to explain to me where they're taking me or why; they probably figure I wouldn't be able to understand them anyway. I guess this whole insane act really has them fooled. This is probably all a trick, a ruse to get me to...to what? What more could they possibly want from me? Oh well...I suppose I'll be finding out soon enough. And it looks like we've finally reached our destination.

We've stopped outside of a thick, imposing wooden door located in a much nicer part of Azkaban than any of the parts I've formerly been allowed to see, or rather forced to see. It appears as if we're at an office of some sort I gather as I look around while waiting for the guards to open the door before me. The lead ministry official mentioned something about an assessment...I guess that's what I'm here for. I wonder what kind of assessment. Physical? Mental? Both? It doesn't matter, either way I know what the results will be already; that I'm lacking capability in both categories.

The office isn't too bad looking, considering the fact that it's located in a prison. There aren't too many personal touches: a couple of pictures (moving of course), a pathetic, wilted plant located in a corner (I doubt it gets much sunlight in here), and a rather large painting of a forest that despite it's size is shabbily done. Whoever this person is, they certainly don't get paid very much from what I can tell.

There are three chairs set up in front of a desk that has seen better days (at least I hope it has) and though they aren't very comfortable looking, at least none of them have any chains or other restraints on them; I take this as a good sign. We sit down; the ministry officials on either side of me shoving me into the middle chair before hastily taking a seat on either side of me.

The door opens again; I can hear it, though I don't bother turning around to look. There's a rustle of fabric as someone else, presumably the owner of the office, enters the stuffy room, and then a soft thud as the door shuts behind him. There's the sound of heavy footsteps before the wizard finally comes into view, his shabby, faded black robes fitting the image I had just formed from the appearance of his office.

He sits behind his desk, placing a thin manila folder down before him. We all stare at it, though I don't turn my head to do so, and look at it as if it contains the answers to all the questions brewing in our minds.

The moment is broken as the office owner clears his throat and glances between the two guards before hesitantly beginning to speak. "According to this file," he pauses, opening the folder and displaying its contents for all to see, "Mr. Potter here has become almost immune to the effects of the dementors by now. As I'm sure you both know, that occurs when the prisoner becomes incapable of generating happy images or joyful memories. Once this happens it's only a stepping-stone away for the prisoner to completely lose themselves and their sanity. We haven't actually checked him since the day after he arrived, but it's very doubtful that he's still...well, I guess I could check him over anyway, although he doesn't appear to be coherent, as far as I can tell." Their attention is drawn to me and I do my best to remain unperturbed by their collective gaze. The examiner leans over his desk a bit, setting his elbows on the worn wood and peering intently at my face, though his view is somewhat hindered by my wet, matted hair that while not particularly long still manages to act as an effective shield.

He gently tries to coax me to say something, asking me a couple of questions and sighing loudly when I don't answer. He leans back in his chair, allowing his arms to drape loosely over the armrests. "I can't make him talk," he states, his eyes never leaving me; I can practically feel them burning a hole into my skull. I find it rather amusing that he seems to find it necessary to announce that fact to the room aloud, seeing as everyone in here already knows I didn't answer his bloody questions. It appears he isn't done, though, as he interrupts my thoughts with more bullshit that I don't really care nor need to hear about. "I don't know whether this proves my earlier assessment that he is no longer lucid or..." he trails off, probably forgot what he wanted to say. I almost let out a derisive snort at his expense, but manage to resist the urge, opting instead to wait for the end of the sentence to finally be revealed, "...or he is perfectly sane and has just chosen not to speak to us." Hmm...I guess I underestimated him; he's more perceptive than he first appeared to be. "In either case there's not too much I can do to help solve any mental problems he may have. Physically...he's not too bad, considering. He's going to need to get his weight back up and his muscles have probably atrophied somewhat but...here's a printout of my recommended treatment. You can give it to whomever will be taking care of him. Alright, you're free to go."

We all stand, me being dragged to my feet, before heading for the door. The guards nod to the doctor before heading out and down the hall in the opposite direction from where we came. We stop at several checkpoints along the way, though I pay little attention to what's going on as around me as my mind races. "Alright, you're free to go." The doctor's words keep replaying through my head and I wonder if they're really true. Am I really free? Or did he just mean that we could leave his office? I still don't know what's going on, but it does appear as if I'm being led towards an exit from this hell that I've been living in for far too long now.

We meet up with Mr. Weasley in what looks like a foyer. It would appear that I'm leaving from a different entrance than I was brought in through. Of course it makes sense that they'd want to have separate entrances for inmates and visitors. It finally starts to sink in that I'm leaving Azkaban. The relief is overwhelming; it's almost too good to be true. Tears spring to my eyes and I fight to keep them at bay as Mr. Weasley signs some papers before approaching me and my entourage. He looks at me with overwhelming pity in his eyes, gently shaking his head back and forth a couple of times before turning and briskly leading the way out of a large set of double doors.

As I'm led outside for the first time in ages my breath hitches at the beauty of the canopy of stars that blankets the darkened sky. I'm glad to find that it's night outside, I feel exposed enough as it is, being out in the open like this again. At least the darkness provides some sort of cover for me and the moonlight shining down from the quarter moon is the perfect representation for the ray of hope that now lights my darkened path.

As the boat slowly floats across the impressive moat, powered by magic, with the water slapping against the side and the wind blowing gently across my face I realize how much I've truly missed my freedom. My hate and anger are temporarily put on hold as I savor this moment, taking in every detail so that I can remember it for years to come.

The ride comes to an abrupt stop as the small boat bumps into the shore before being pulled up by two bulky prison guards so that the four occupants, including myself, can exit. The two brutes glance at me warily, recognizing me as a former prisoner, but don't say anything to stop us from passing.

I'm led down a small, cobbled path and out a huge metal gate as Mr. Weasley digs in his pocket before extracting a dull colored quill from the interior of his cloak. He mutters something, though I can't quite make out what it is he's saying. He appears to be talking to the quill. And they worry about me being crazy?

He holds it out towards the other ministry workers and myself and the other two grab a hold of it before forcibly placing one of my bony hands on the end of the feather as well. Ahh...so it's a portkey. It figures that my least favorite method of travel (it's down there right below floo powder) would be chosen.

I feel the overwhelming urge to flee, to run away and never come back. But I don't think that now is the time for such a rash action. Surely they would catch me...I'll have to wait to make a move until I know I can escape. I don't want to blow the element of surprise.

I feel the pull at my stomach that indicates the activation of the portkey and there's a horrid lurch before I'm suddenly whisked away. I close my eyes against the blur of images making my head spin and try to keep my meager rations in my stomach where they belong.

We land with a thump, my eyes snap open and the harsh impact makes my feet ache, but at least I didn't fall over. Of course, the only reason for that fact is the two people holding me upright by each arm, but I'd like to think I would have landed on my feet regardless of their assistance.

I carefully take in my surroundings, making sure no one notices me as I do so and am surprised to find myself standing in front of Saint Mungoo's. I guess they were serious about bringing me here, not that I should be surprised. At least here I won't have to deal with any of a number of people who betrayed me, at least here I don't know anyone, though I doubt I'll be as lucky as to have no one recognize me.

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Author's Note: Okay...once again Harry doesn't run into any of his old friends. This chapter was somewhat awkward to write and seemed a bit forced, if I do say so myself. I know none of the many questions have been answered and that this was pretty much just a filler chapter to lead into the next chapter, but...well, what can I say? The next chapter should be better. I've already written a scene with Harry giving everyone a piece of his mind. I really do hope I can use it in chapter 5. Thanx for all of the reviews! They really encourage me to get the next chapter done faster. I don't know what I'll be doing with Harry and Hogwarts yet. In truth he hasn't really missed that much, just a couple months of school...since he's a minor I suppose I could always have him be forced to return. Anyways...chapter 5 should be more exciting; I don't know exactly when I'll be posting it, but it should be up in no more than a week. As always, if you have any complaints or comments, please let me know. 


	5. Runaway

Summary: Harry Potter-the perfect little savior...the convenient scapegoat whenever the wizarding world has a problem, or needs somebody to blame. They've condemned him...to Azkaban. It's a hard place to survive, even harder still to come out as the same, naïve person that went in. 

Disclaimer: I own nothing; if I did, I would be rich and famous and wouldn't be writing fan fiction.

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CHAPTER FIVE: RUNAWAY

He walked stiffly along, eyeing the people bustling about him warily, their seeming unawareness of his presence making him somewhat apprehensive though he was glad all the same that they hadn't come over to start fussing over him. He was led through the pristinely white hallways; the sterile cleanness of the whole place an odd contrast to his environment of the past couple months.

They stopped in front of an elevator, waiting for a handful of people to step out before boarding and waiting with tense silence until the elevator reached the fourth floor, alerting them of this fact with a soft ding. They walked the short distance to the receptionist's desk and Harry stood off to one side, ministry workers guarding him all the while, and cautiously took in his surroundings.

It was obvious that the place was decorated to give one a sense of peace and comfort. A serene, calming blue blanketed just about everything in sight; the color, oddly enough, made him want to retch. There were cushioned chairs arranged to form a small waiting area off to one side; a couple of small end tables were interspersed amidst the seats, well worn magazines and books haphazardly placed upon them.

He scanned them quickly, his eyes coming to rest on a copy of the Daily Prophet. The date atop the page read September 25th, but it looked to be at least a couple of weeks old. He read the headline, "Breach in Ministry Security Leaves Officials Skeptical;" he wondered what that was all about, but seeing as he couldn't make out any of the rest of the article from this distance he filed the information away before letting his eyes drift over to where Mr. Weasley was heatedly conversing with the receptionist, the name tag on her desk identifying her as Ms. Rose. He gazed at them with disinterest, vaguely wondering what could have gotten Mr. Weasley so worked up before moving on to look down the hallway to his right and what he assumed to be the psychiatric ward.

He watched as nurses walked purposefully about striding in and out of rooms and checking up on various patients. Some of the attendants could be seen walking patients down the hall, talking cheerfully to them as they strolled along, fake smiles plastered onto their stiff faces. Their uniforms were as white and sterile as the building itself, stiffly starched and ironed to perfection. How do they stay so immaculately clean working in a hospital surrounding by sick people? Hmm...must be magic. Harry was vaguely amused by this thought, a small smirk slowly making its way onto his face, but nothing that would be noticed by anyone who might be looking at him.

Just as he was about to turn his attention back from his assessment of the ward and to Mr. Weasley's argument, he was startled by a flurry of nurses rushing towards room 413, their cheerful demeanor all but forgotten in their hurry. He was beginning to wonder what exactly was going on, his curiosity peaked, when a loud wail broke out from the room echoing down the hallway and sending a shiver down his spine as it reminded him of his stay in Azkaban.

Everything stopped as the inhumane shriek filled every nook and cranny of the ward with its heartbreaking sound, it was as if time had been put on hold, the cry the only thing that continued as it reverberated off the walls. And then, just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. There was a hushed, shocked silence, then a collective shuddery breath before motion resumed, everything speeding up again until a normal pace had once again commenced.

The nurses exited the room looking significantly more haggard and worn than they had when they had gone in. They talked in low, troubled voices about the occurrence as they made their way back to their stations. Harry couldn't pick up much from where he was standing, but from the few bits and pieces of information he picked up from his eavesdropping; this wasn't an uncommon occurrence.

It was at about this point that Mr. Weasley finished with his discussion and made his way back to the little group, all the while muttering about incompetent administration under his breath. He stopped in front of them, a small, annoyed frown creasing his face, and spoke in a frustrated clipped voice, "We're taking him to Hogwarts." Though Harry's face remained impassive at this troubling news, his mind began to race, all the horrible memories and faces that he wished not to recall plaguing his conscience.

The ministry officials, too, seemed troubled by this announcement, sending apprehensive glances one another's way. One of them took on the appearance that they were going to speak, ask a question most likely, before backing down after taking a good look at Mr. Weasley's expression. The other one simply rolled his eyes before daring to ask, "Sir, if you wouldn't mind explaining the situation to us?"

Mr. Weasley turned to him, glaring, looking very much as if he _did_ mind, but began to explain regardless of that fact after a long, exasperated sigh. "Well, Jenkins, it appears that Saint Mungoo's has screwed up once again. As you recall we made arrangements with Mr. Morningside that if the situation arose, then Potter would be transferred here. He said he would make all the necessary arrangements, but somehow the paper work got messed up. Anyways, they won't take him. You know as well as I do that we can't take him to the ministry holding cells, too many people of questionable alliances there, so it would appear that Hogwarts is the only option left," he ended with a resigned note, his gaze falling upon Harry and truly taking him in for the first time since his release from Azkaban. The boy really looked terrible; it was hard to see him like this, but...well, there was nothing for it. After receiving a nod of acknowledgement from the two underlings he'd brought along, he stalked to the elevator and pressed the down button.

The lights atop the elevator signaling each floor the elevator passed lit up from the L for lobby, all the way until it finally got to 4, and the doors opened with a swoosh. The inside was empty this time, so all four of them piled in, as Mr. Weasley pushed the large round L button, and the elevator was soon descending towards the lobby. It was odd how alike this elevator, and hospital in general, was to its muggle alternative, yet oddly comforting in a familiar sort of way.

The elevator soon deposited them on the first floor and they made their way out of it and under an archway that read "Portkey Exit." They now stood in a well-sized room that's purpose, apparently, was to allow one to exit the building by use of a portkey. If Harry had thought the journey here was bad, it was nothing compared to what was in store.

He was going back to Hogwarts, the castle he had once regarded as home sweet home, but now stood for everything and everyone that had rejected and betrayed him. The thought of going back there made his muscles tense and a knot was quickly forming in his stomach. But, it would appear he had no choice but to go back there, he certainly couldn't run away at the moment, and so he hoped, at least, that he wouldn't run into anyone else that he knew, or used to know; seeing Mr. Weasley again was bad enough. He would probably be spending the whole time he was there locked up in a dungeon cell, anyways, if Mr. Weasley's earlier explanation was anything to go by. And just when he had thought they might have actually come to believe in his innocence. Oh well...he knew he shouldn't have gotten his hopes up; it had been too good to be true anyways.

Harry turned his attention back to Mr. Weasley as he drew another portkey from his cloak, this time it was a chocolate frog card featuring Albus Dumbledor's smiling face, and Harry glared at it though he knew that it was only a picture. A quick spell was muttered to activate the portkey, and Mr. Weasley held it out so that all of them could grasp it. Harry refused to grasp it of his own free will; they thought he was crazy anyways, so it's not like they would get mad at him for his small defiance. Jenkins deftly snatched his left hand and placed it on a corner of the card. Not thirty seconds letter there was a great jerk as if a giant hook was attached to the navel of all of the individuals present and then, they were off.

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Author's Note: Once again, thank you sooooo much for all the lovely reviews! I appreciate your feedback. Well, Harry is now on his way to Hogwarts where there WILL be a confrontation scene (Gosh, I keep promising that, but it never seems to happen). I have already written part of a scene, as I have said, where Harry chews everybody out and I know you're all looking forward to it (I know I am too!) and I thought I would get to put it in this chapter, but writing about the journey to Saint Mungoos took up a lot more space than I thought it would. I know there are still a whole lot of questions left unanswered, and I'll be getting to those too. I have everything concerning why Harry went to Azkaban all worked out in my mind, but I'm not exactly sure how I'm going to integrate it into the story yet. I've been busy with school lately and with trying to get my web page up and running which, by the way, you should all come and visit once I do, so I don't know how much spare time I'll have in the near future. Hopefully I'll have a chance to write chapter six sometimes soon (summer break is coming up in just a couple weeks) but, in the mean time, I hope you enjoy chapter five! 


	6. Forgotten

Summary: Harry Potter-the perfect little savior...the convenient scapegoat whenever the wizarding world has a problem, or needs somebody to blame. They've condemned him...to Azkaban. It's a hard place to survive, even harder still to come out as the same, naïve person that went in. 

Disclaimer: I own nothing; if I did, I would be rich and famous and wouldn't be writing fan fiction.

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CHAPTER SIX: FORGOTTEN 

I stand now, as I have so many times before, in front of the spiraling towers and thick, stone walls of Hogwarts castle. It is the same as it always was; yet looks very different to me now than it did before. Its enormous size and bold, gargantuan structure that used to speak of magnificence and beauty are now seen as an impressive display of power and masterdom. There is no doubt that the castle is aesthetically pleasing, but it now looks to me more like a war fortress, a stronghold, than a school. And maybe it is.

They don't bother to keep the prisoners of Azkaban well informed on what's going on in the outside world. No need to keep updated on a world you will never again see let alone be a part of, now is there? But then again, that isn't always the case, now is it? I'm sure that those in for minor felonies are allowed luxuries such as newspapers, or at least the guards talk to them about what's going on at times. But when you're in for murder? You're lucky to have the tattered scrap of cloth they have the audacity to call a blanket and the stale bread and dirty water they serve at every meal. When you're a murderer, they don't care about too much except for keeping you alive, and only so that you may suffer all the more to atone your crimes.

But I didn't _do_ anything...at least not anything that Voldemort didn't force me to do. I tried to tell them; I think some of them might even have believed me, but in the end, it didn't do me a scrap of good. I can understand why they were scared; I was terrified when I found out, terrified when I saw what had happened, the cold, lifeless bodies. But it wasn't _me_, it was Voldemort. It was Voldemort, but...they locked _me_ up for the crime, for a crime that I didn't do. And for that, for the irreversible damage and suffering I experienced in Azkaban, I don't think I can ever forgive them.

Speaking of _them_, here they come now. Probably to sneer and glare and shout more hateful remarks at me, like they did right after the trial. No matter, I can take it. I have relived every scornful glance and scathing remark any of them has ever given me over and over again as the dementors made me agonize over my most terrible, horrible, depressing memories hour upon hour, day after day, until finally I became almost desensitized to them. So let them heap on every insult they can think of; I'm beyond the point of caring. These people are ignorant; their opinions are uninformed and therefore without relevance, without meaning. _I_ know the truth and that's all that matters.

And here they are. Hermione and Ron. Supposedly my two best friends. Some friends _they_ turned out to be. McGonagal and Snape, Pomfrey and Hooch. It makes me sick to see them all again. I remember what they did to me, all the things they said. They had no right to treat me the way that they did. And finally, last but definitely not least: Dumbledor, the leader of the pack. No words could describe the depth of my hatred for this old fraud of a wizard whom I, at one point, consider a friend and confidant, a figure to be trusted above all else. His betrayal stabbed me the deepest, hurt the most out of all of them. For it was he that I had the most hope in; I actually thought that he would believe me and protect me from the ministry. I was a fool.

They approach, each taking the appropriate amount of time to assess my pitiful appearance and give me a heated glare before studiously ignoring me as if I was nothing more than dirt beneath their feet. Ouch, _that_ really hurts. Ron is the first to reach us and he is the one who seems the most upset out of all of them. They didn't even know I was going to be coming here; they all thought I was going to be sent to Saint Mungoo's didn't they? Well, surprise! For some reason I find this encounter rather amusing despite my trepidation on approaching the castle. Anything they say or do will only fuel my anger and ignite my wrath. It looks like the Weasel is about to speak, or more likely yell; this should be interesting.

"Dad?! I thought you said he was going to Mungo's! It's bad enough that he's no longer in Azkaban—he deserves to _rot_ in there—but what the _hell_ is he doing _here_?!" Uh-oh, he doesn't sound too happy, now does he? Hmm...interesting that my mere _presence_ could evoke such a reaction from him...yes, this might actually be somewhat fun. Now _there's_ something I haven't had in a _long_ time; I think I'm going to enjoy this. I'll just have to wait 'til the opportune moment to voice _my_ opinion on everything that's happened.

"Damn hospital messed up the paperwork. Potter's going to have to stay here. I'm sure there's a dungeon we can lock him up in where he won't be a danger to anyone. We don't have any choice, Ron, so we'll just have to make do. Besides, I...well, from what we've seen so far...Potter isn't all there in the head. I doubt he'd be capable of doing anything even if he _did_ have the means to do so." After this statement everyone's gaze once again was fixed upon me, though this time it was much more analytical. No one seemed very upset, though; go figure.

After scrutinizing me for a couple of moments (I all the while staring with a glazed look and slack jaw at a brown patch in the lush Hogwart's lawn) Hermione turned to the assembled group and declared her 'expert' opinion. "I believe you are right. He most certainly appears to be insane. No less than he deserves I'd say, after what he did."

Well, that's very _interesting_ that you'd say that Hermione, especially since I'm fucking _innocent_ and didn't deserve _any_ of the shit all of you gave me, let alone being put in bloody _Azkaban_ at 15 years of age. Granger thinks that she's _sooo_ smart, but she doesn't have a God damned clue. None of them do. They all sit there and nod their heads, agreeing with Hermione's assessment and her declaration of hatred toward me. They look like little bobble head dolls, nodding their heads, up and down, like silly little puppets, because it's all they know how to do. I would almost pity them for their stupidity, if it weren't for the fact that it cost me my life, or more accurately my happiness. They don't know anything, and they're too ignorant even to realize that they don't know.

I've just about had enough of their bullshit, but it looks like their ringleader wants to put in a few words; I'm sure _he'll_ have something very..._insightful_ to say. "I'm afraid that in this one instance, Miss Granger, you are quite mistaken." Well, no shit Sherlock, you don't say? Of course, the way Dumbledor says it, his voice appropriately sagacious and a solemn look creasing his wrinkled face; everyone around him hangs on his every word. I must give him one thing; he's a bloody good actor, though perhaps deceiver would be the more correct term.

Hermione, of course, looks incredulously at Dumbledor, hardly able to believe that she, know-it-all-Granger, could have possibly been mistaken on _anything_, let alone this. "What do you mean, Professor?" She looks apprehensive about what the answer to that simple question could possibly be, in fact, they all do, as they unconsciously lean in closer to Dumbledor, curious to know what words of wisdom he has for them today.

"I'm afraid that Mr. Potter here did not deserve to be placed in Azkaban, though that was the only option available at the time." He explains this as if it were the most simple and obvious answer, his expression knowledgeable yet grim at the same time. I must say that I'm not impressed. He knew the whole time that I was _innocent_, or at least he has known for a while, yet he did _nothing_ to stop my being imprisoned. The _only_ option?! What kind of bullshit is that? I can think of plenty of other options, namely ones that didn't involve me being thrown into a cell and locked away for I don't even know how long with nothing but dementors and guards that wished only for my pain and suffering to keep me company. "You see, Harry did kill his muggle relatives, the Dursleys, but he was not himself when he did so. It was his hand that held the wand that did it, and his voice that muttered the killing curse, but in truth it was _not_ him. Voldemort, it seems, found a way to manipulate the bond that he and Harry share, for they are bound together by the curse that failed, and used it to gain control over Harry, much like gaining control over someone by using the imperio curse. I have known this for quite some time, but I kept this information to myself knowing that as long as Voldemort could gain control over Harry's mind as he had, Harry would be a danger to not only those around him but also to himself. I knew that the ministry and the wizarding world at large would settle for nothing less than Harry's placement in Azkaban, and I fear I must admit that I too wished for him to be locked away, if only to keep him out of Voldemort's reach." A deathly silence now blankets the small gathering, everyone besides Dumbledor and myself are now standing stock- still, eyes wide and mouths hanging slightly open in surprise and shock.

Finally someone breaks the silence, it's Mr. Weasley, his voice is barely above a whisper and hoarse with emotion. "He was innocent...all this time...but he was innocent..." His voice trails off, almost as if he didn't know that he was speaking aloud, but more as if he was voicing his own thoughts aloud to himself, trying to make sense of all that he had heard. I sneak glances at everyone gathered around, most of them look as if they are about to cry, an incredible sadness washed over their features. It makes me happy to see their pain. Did they never even think about the possibility that I could be innocent? They never even bothered to question the facts that they were given, they knew me and yet they were so easily convinced of my guilt.

They all keep sneaking guilty glances my way, and finally someone decides to try and say something directly to me. It's Hermione, and this time when she speaks she looks incredibly unsure of herself, as if she's lost all confidence in herself and her judgment. "Harry? Harry, can you hear me? I'm so sorry Harry...I...I didn't know. We didn't know...please, speak to me Harry...you can't really be..." Her words are intermingled with sobs as she desperately attempts to plead for forgiveness and my sanity. As they all look at me, their gazes now taking in my pathetic appearance with pity and guilt, I can practically hear the question burning on all of their minds, 'Is he sane?' And it seems that this is my cue; it's time to give them a piece of my mind and a tongue-lashing they won't ever forget if I have any say in it.

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Author's note: Thanks for the reviews! I know it took me a whole week to get this chapter up, and I'm sorry. I've been busy with school and stuff. By the way, did any of you check out my website? I posted the first part of this chapter on there a couple of days ago. Anyways, I hope you liked this chapter. Hopefully it answered some of the questions I know everyone has. It's kind of vague, but a more detailed explanation will be provided in a later chapter. Next chapter Harry chews everyone out. Yeah! I don't know when chapter seven will be out, but probably within the next week. This chapter is a bit longer than the others, so hopefully it can tide you over 'til I get a chance to post the next chapter. I didn't really check over this chapter very well before I posted it (as soon as I finished it I decided to upload it) so if you see any mistakes (I'm not quite sure on the spelling for some of the names) then please let me know. 


	7. Pushing Me Away

Summary: Harry Potter-the perfect little savior...the convenient scapegoat whenever the wizarding world has a problem, or needs somebody to blame. They've condemned him...to Azkaban. It's a hard place to survive, even harder still to come out as the same, naïve person that went in. 

Disclaimer: I own nothing; if I did, I would be rich and famous and wouldn't be writing fan fiction.

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CHAPTER SEVEN: PUSHING ME AWAY

I finally look up at the group of people now clustered about me. I glare at each one of them in turn, letting my hatred of them show before I began my tirade. "I am not insane as all of you were so willing to believe only minutes ago. But that doesn't mean that I am the same person that I was before. No...I see through all of your lies and false sentiments now, through your coercion and manipulation. And I have no intention whatsoever of forgiving you—any of you." Here I pause, gauging their reactions to what I have said so far. They all seem somewhat stunned and confused, as if they cannot comprehend why I would speak to them like this.

Snape—the greasy bastard—is the first to recover from the shock. "Potter, your sanity has always been questionable and still is, but regardless, in light of the information Dumbledor has just provided us with, I am sure we can have your name cleared, or at the very least let you roam Hogwarts freely." Hah! I'll bet he thinks that by saying that all my anger and resentment will just melt away. Stupid bastards _always_ hated me, no doubt he _still_ does; he doesn't even have the decency to admit that he was wrong about me, let alone apologize.

"Having my name cleared, though I seriously doubt that will happen, won't make up for _any_ of the things that all of you did to me; it doesn't even come _close_ to it." I speak loudly enough for all of them to hear me, though I don't yell, the venom in my voice alone is enough to make them cringe.

Ron seems to be a bit affronted by what I've said; his eyes flash with anger before he takes a step towards me, as if he is about to threaten me. "Harry, why are you acting like this?! Don't you get it; we _saved_ you! You should be _grateful_ that my dad brought you here!"

Now it's my eyes that are flashing with anger as a give Ron a heated glare and a sneer. Who does the stupid bastard think he is?! "Oh, I see that you're calling me Harry again. Has so much really changed in the past five minutes, _Ron_?"

I wait for him to respond, wanting to hear what he has to say, what he truly believes, before I go on, though I'm fairly certain of the answer I'll receive. "Of course things have changed! You're _innocent_ now!" And he doesn't surprise me. Now's my chance to _really_ tear into him.

"_Innocent_?! I was _always_ innocent. And you want to know something else, why I'm acting this way? I should think it would be fairly obvious. _You_ did this to me—all of you. _You_ condemned me to hell...and _I_ survived it. But not as Harry Potter. Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived, the _Golden Boy_ of Gryffindor, your _precious_ little puppet is dead. You didn't really think a soft, goody-to-shoes like _him_ could survive a morbid, desolate place like Azkaban did you? Or did you even think about that when you sent him there? Ah...perhaps it's not that you didn't think about; just that you didn't give a fuck. After all, he was a murderer...he _deserved_ it. It's pathetic, _you're_ pathetic. You think I need you _now_? You think I should be _grateful_ to you for _saving_ me?! You're the fucking bastards that sent me there in the first place, and I'll be damned before I have to _thank_ worthless scum like you for simply realizing that you made a mistake, the biggest bloody mistake of your miserable lives. All the 'I'm sorrys' in the world wouldn't even _began_ to make up for what you did to me. You made a huge, fucking mistake, and it's too God damned late to correct it." I hadn't yelled. I hadn't had to. I spoke with conviction, not particularly loud, but with the deepest loathing that my desensitized heart could muster. I could tell that they were shocked. Dumbledor had lost that God damned twinkling almost always present in his eyes and most mouths were slack with alarm and undeniable hurt.

I felt a sense of pride that I had caused this sort of reaction and a smirk invariably made its way onto my face, but a scowl quickly replaced it. They were actually _surprised_. They had screwed me over, fucked up my entire life, left me helpless and hopeless all alone to rot, and they had the _nerve_ to be shocked that I was mad at them. I sent each and every one of them my best death glare, I doubt even Snape...hell even Voldemort himself couldn't rival it, before stalking away from them, not leaving them a chance to recover and, undoubtedly, say something that would only raise my ire more—if that were even possible.

The magical bonds they had created around me to make sure I wouldn't escape while they were transporting me had fallen in their distress, and I was free to leave as long as they didn't recover too quickly. I headed towards the forbidden forest; I would much rather face _any_ of the creatures I could possibly meet in there than be forced to face the people who had betrayed me again.

Just as I made my way to the edge of the forest, stepping into the darkened woods, someone shouted out for me to stop. I think it might have been Mrs. McGonagal, but I don't really care enough to bother trying to decipher whose voice it was. I started to run, eager to lose myself under the thick canopy of trees that blocked out the light and help shield me from anyone who might come in after me.

I tired quickly, my muscles having atrophied somewhat during my stay in Azkaban, despite my frequent pacing. I glanced surreptitiously around, making sure that I was alone and wouldn't be found if I stopped now.

I spent the next ten minutes or so looking for a suitable place to rest, one that would help hide me from prying eyes and predators. The roots of an old tree, though I know not what kind it is, large and twisted, coming quite a ways out of the ground and creating a small alcove at the near the trunk that was just what I had been looking for. I grabbed a bit of brush nearby before situating myself in the small, secure space, placing the brush in front of me to help hide myself even better.

I didn't feel comfortable going to sleep at the moment, not ready to let my guard down that much yet. So I just sat there, my knees curled up against my chest and my head resting against one of the tree roots.

Without something to distract me, my mind began to ponder what I was going to do next. I was free, a concept that seemed somehow foreign to me despite the numerous times I had dreamt about it while locked in my cell. What the hell was I going to do now? I certainly couldn't live in the forest forever, but where else could I go?

The thought of living out the rest of my life as a muggle entered my mind, but the idea was quickly dismissed. After all, when Sirius had escaped, even muggles were informed...even in the muggle world I would be thought a criminal. So where could I go; who could I turn to?

I didn't have an answer to that, so instead I decided to concentrate on the immediate future, finding a place to stay in the long term could wait. I could probably stay in the forest for a couple of days, find some berries or something to eat...God I wish I had paid more attention in Herbology; what if I eat something poisonous? That would be ironic, wouldn't it? Right after I escape, I die from eating poisonous berries.

The thought was not reassuring. My helplessness in this situation finally sinking in, I placed my face into my hands and began to cry and laugh at the same time, my bitterness pouring out.

When I was done having my little mental breakdown and had finally pulled myself back together, I pondered my situation once again. Think, Harry, _think_...where can you go? Nothing immediately came to mind, but I still had a couple days to think of something; I figured that I could survive in the forest until then...somehow.

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Author's Note: Once again, thanks to everyone who reviewed! I hope you all liked the big confrontation! I know the ending is kind of weird, what with Harry going into the Forbidden Forest and all...let me know what you think about that whole idea. I don't exactly know where I'm going to take it from here...the next update might not be for quite some time (especially since finals are next week and then I'm going to Florida for two weeks and don't know if I'll have access to a computer.) I know this chapter is kind of short, and I'm very sorry for that, but this just seemed like a pretty good place to stop it. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, hopefully I'll be able to update again soon. 


	8. Cure for the Itch

Summary: Harry Potter-the perfect little savior...the convenient scapegoat whenever the wizarding world has a problem, or needs somebody to blame. They've condemned him...to Azkaban. It's a hard place to survive, even harder still to come out as the same, naïve person that went in. 

Disclaimer: I own nothing; if I did, I would be rich and famous and wouldn't be writing fan fiction.

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CHAPTER EIGHT: CURE FOR THE ITCH

I woke up with a start as an animal cried out into the night. The sound was loud and foreboding; I don't even want to know what kind of creature made it. Even though I haven't the faintest idea what most of the creatures that live in the forest are called or even very much about them, I do know this: Many of them are extremely dangerous and should be avoided at all costs. I'm still lodged into the tiny enclosure I fell asleep in, hidden safely for now under a giant tree root, but I can't stay here forever.

The forest will probably be marginally safer in the daylight, but there's no guarantee. I can tell dawn is approaching by the way the night seems to be receding and off in what I'm assuming to be the east, the sky is beginning to lighten, though it is hard to tell with the trees blocking the sun out so effectively. The coming of day helps to relieve some of the fears I am harboring, but there's more to worry about than just the creatures of this forest.

Will Dumbledor inform the ministry that I'm gone? He knows that I'm innocent...but then again, he always knew. If he has told them, though, I'm sure they'll be here soon to try and hunt me down. Even if he decided not to tell them I'm sure he and his little 'order of the light' (or whatever bullshit name they use) will be out here soon to track me down themselves. Either way, I need to get out of here and fast.

I've been in the forest a couple of times now, but hell if I know my way around it. Too bad Hagrid's not alive anymore; I'm sure he would have helped me when I needed someone the most, instead of betraying me like everyone else. He knew the forest better than anyone...maybe something he taught me could help.

Hmm...I could ride a hypogriff...but where would I find one? Do they even live in the forest? They're kind of mean; I suppose it would be better to get killed by one of them than the ministry or Voldemort and his gang, but still...What other animal is there that could possibly help? Maybe a unicorn? No, they don't like males very much and I don't even know if one would carry me let alone take me out of the forest. I know, a centaur! Surely Firenze would help me out. I know they don't like to meddle in with 'what destiny has planned' or whatever it is that they say, but Firenze can't want Voldemort to win the war...oh shit! What if he's still teaching at Hogwarts? I can't go back there. Hell, I don't even know if he would have been able to help me in the first place...

I'm never going to get out of this forest! I'm just going to sit in here crouching under bushes and hiding in the trees until either someone finds me or some bloody animal eats me. There's no way I can get out of here...unless, maybe, if I could fly...but it's not like I have a broom or any—wait a minute...the thestrals! Why the hell didn't I think of that before? All I need is a little meat or blood and they'll come right to me. And they'll take me wherever the hell I want!

But where will I go, now that I've got the means to actually get there? Hmm...seeing as I don't want to get caught again so soon after gaining my freedom, I should probably leave Great Britain. I don't know how far the thestrals can fly, so maybe France? I'm going to want to go somewhere where the ministry, the order, and not to mention Voldemort can't get me. Would France work? I suppose it's as good a place as any...I could always stay there for a little while and then go on to somewhere else. If I keep moving then they'll be less likely to catch me, right?

All right then, France it is...for now anyway. Now that that's settled, I'd better go find something to eat. Maybe there will be some berries or something around here that will be edible. I just hope I don't accidentally eat anything poisonous.

Walking in the forest isn't too bad; at least I haven't run into anything dangerous yet. It's kind of nice just being out here in the wild all alone, especially after being held in a cell in Azkaban for the past few months (I still don't know exactly how long it's been.) Despite everything (not having a place to go, having no money, being a fugitive who will be hunted and tracked down no matter where I chose to go), I'm happy that I'm out. At least I have freedom now, if nothing else, the right to choose what it is that I want to do with my life (though I'm afraid I have very limited options), an opportunity that I have never been afforded before.

Everyone has always tried to control me and what I do ever since I was a year old. The Dursleys kept the knowledge of the wizarding world away from me (perhaps it would have been better if I had never known of it, looking back) and tried to stamp the magic out of me. They were horrible and I hated them, but they weren't the worst.

Once I got to Hogwarts I thought that everything was going to be all right. I thought that I had finally found a place where I would fit in and could be myself, but my problems in the wizarding world were far more numerous than in the muggle one and even more inescapable.

Everyone had this preconceived notion of what I was like and these expectations that I couldn't ignore nor dispel. Anywhere I went people didn't see Harry, they saw the-boy-who-lived, their blessed savior. And then there was Dumbledor.

Looking back it's all so clear. The way he gave me hints enough to allow me to figure out what Voldemort was up to (knowing the whole time what was going on), yet never helping me to stop him until I had already landed myself into a heap of trouble. The way he pretended to care for me while he sent me back to the Dursley's each year (because he had to) and sent me off to fight the most feared Dark Lord of all times and his minions without a second thought or consideration. I was so desperate for approval and love from all my years spent without it in the presence of the Dursleys (the place Dumbledor purposefully chose to send me) that I couldn't see the truth that was right before my eyes: Nobody cared about me. They cared of course that I was in able condition to serve their cause, but about me, the neglected, little boy who just wanted someone to like him for just being himself for once; they didn't give a damn.

And with that thought I fell unceremoniously onto the ground. Damn it, if only I had been paying more attention maybe I would have seen that root. Wait, a root? You can eat roots, right? It probably won't taste very good, but I suppose it's worth a try.

Digging up the root wasn't nearly as easy as I thought it would be, but after a couple of minutes of desperate attempts to dislodge it from it's tight hold on the earth I finally succeeded. I felt unnervingly proud at my accomplishment, but seeing as it was a better feeling than the misery and despair I usually wallowed in, I decided to just shrug it off.

Next task was to find some clean water. There should be a stream in this forest somewhere...but where there's water, there are usually animals...I guess I'll just have to be careful then.

Clutching my root tightly to my chest and watching out for other tripping hazards lying precariously on the forest floor, I searched for a long while for a stream or fresh water of some sort. Eventually I found just what I was looking for, though it took me quite a long time (a good 20 minutes or so), and I took a couple of minutes to check the area for any animals that might spell danger before venturing toward the small streams edge.

I didn't realize how thirsty I was until I had started cupping the water in my hands and greedily drinking as much as I could of it in the shortest amount of time possible. My face and clothes were fairly wet by the time I had finished and I was panting heavily, but I felt infinitely better, as if the water had somehow restored my spirit along with quenching my thirst. Perhaps the stream was magical or something...or maybe I had just been extremely thirsty. I frankly didn't care at this point.

Now that my thirst had been satisfied, it was time to take care of my hunger, though the root I had brought with me to the streams edge was unlikely to do that. It was rather dirty, as would be expected, and so I dipped it in the water and scrubbed it as best as I could before taking a large bite out of it, not caring whether or not it tasted good (after all, the meals I had been getting in Azkaban weren't exactly five star.)

After eating the root, which hadn't tasted half bad considering, I decided to set out to round myself up a thestral. I would need blood to attract them...but who knew how many other creatures would be attracted by blood? And I certainly didn't want to cut myself, though finding another animal to use might prove difficult.

It was already nearing mid-day, but I figured I had time to look for an animal that I could catch to use as bait (not that I would be able to catch one regardless of how much time I had.) Dumbledor and company were probably out looking for me by now, but unless they have some spell that I don't know of that can track me down, they're going to be searching for quite a while before they would be able to find me. That meant that I probably have a couple of hours.

What could I catch that would work? There must be some slow, stupid creatures in this forest, right? I guess my best bet would to be just to sit down and observe for a while; no animal is going to come near me when I'm crashing through the underbrush.

It was boring, but I had gotten used to being bored and sitting still for long periods of time while at Azkaban. And at least my work paid off. A small, little, brown mammal had ventured rather close to me, sniffing the ground as it went along. It looked rather familiar, like one of the animals that we had studied in care of magical creatures...it was a niffler I think. Anyway, as it grew nearer, I snatched it up with seeker quick reflexes, though it had been quite a long time since I had played quiditch, and grasped it firmly in my hands. I didn't want to have to hurt it, but desperate times call for desperate measures as the saying goes, and so grabbed a nearby stick that was broken in the middle and had a rather pointy end and stuck it into the little creature that I clutched, ignoring it's cries as I held it firmly while it struggled.

Soon there was a fairly decent amount of blood dripping from the poor creature and, satisfied that it would be enough to draw the attention of the thestrals, I set the little animal down and wiped my hands on a couple of fallen leaves laying nearby on the ground before moving hastily away behind a tree to observe.

It took a couple of minutes before anything happened, but then there came a sharp screeching sound and the clip clop of hooves pounding lightly on the muddy earth. A couple seconds more and what appeared to be a black, decaying, winged horse stepped cautiously out of the surrounding trees and into the small clearing where the niffler was lying.

I could hear more thestrals approaching, but all I needed was the one and so I stepped out slowly, so as not to scare it off, and made my way over to it. By now it was licking the blood off the niffler, making for a somewhat disturbing sight, but I came up and patted the thestral lightly on the shoulder anyways. It raised its head to look at me then, big brown eyes gazing at me intently as if looking into my very soul and judging whether or not I was worthy. Apparently I was, as it nudged me gently, beckoning me to mount. I did so with effort, ungracefully flopping onto the thestral's back.

Uncertainly I asked the horse whether it could take me to France, preferably to one of the larger cities. It must have understood, for with a great beating of bat-like wings and a leap into the air, we were off.

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Author's Note: I know that it has been a long time since I have updated and I'm sorry. I tried to make it up to you by making this chapter a little longer; I hope you like it. Anyways, the reason for why the chapter took so long to get out, in case you're interested, is because I was on vacation in Florida for two weeks and then had various family functions that I was expected to attend. It might have been out sooner, but it took me a while to figure out where exactly I wanted to go with the chapter and even though I'm not completely satisfied, I think this will have to do. Thank you to all of my faithful reviewers and to everyone who has enjoyed my story so far; I'm writing it for you! As always, if you see any errors that you would like me to correct, just let me know; I typed this out in a hurry and am too lazy to go back through and check it. Anyways, enjoy! 


	9. Numb

Summary: Harry Potter-the perfect little savior...the convenient scapegoat whenever the wizarding world has a problem, or needs somebody to blame. They've condemned him...to Azkaban. It's a hard place to survive, even harder still to come out as the same, naïve person that went in. 

Disclaimer: I own nothing; if I did, I would be rich and famous and wouldn't be writing fan fiction.

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CHAPTER NINE: NUMB

The wind was rushing through his hair as he rode atop the mystical thestral, eager to put as many miles between him and Hogwarts as possible. He could see France looming up ahead of him, relieved at the prospect of having solid ground beneath him once again after not having been able to land, due to the channel, for quite some time.

It was nighttime by now, and the darkness cloaked him like a blanket, making him feel safe and secure, though even the relative safety it provided him was not enough to put him at ease.

They would be coming for him. He didn't know when or how many, but they would definitely come, even those that believed him innocent. Why could they not just leave him in peace? It's not like he had done anything to deserve this—any of it.

He had never asked to be 'born as the seventh month dies,' or whatever the stupid prophecy that had become the bane of his existence had said. And to think, that one out of only two predictions that crackpot Trelawney had actually gotten right had started it all. That's why Voldemort came after him; that's why his parents had been killed. And it was all just a downward spiral from there.

The dull thud of the thestral's hooves landing somewhat harshly on the grassy meadow where it had chosen to land (a good distance away from any possibly inhabited areas) jolted Harry out of his morbid thoughts. He was glad for the distraction.

Dismounting from the bony creature and stretching as best as he could, Harry looked for some place where he might be able to hole up for the night. It would have to be somewhere where neither he nor the thestral would be spotted when daylight comes, even though it was doubtful that anyone would come close enough to this part of the countryside to spot them.

Not too far away was an area of rather tall grass where, if he crouched or lay down, Harry would go unseen. The thestral could be a problem, though. But since it was the only place that would possibly do for now, Harry slowly made his way towards it, trusting the thestral to follow behind him.

He made his way to the center of the long grass and fell in an exhausted heap onto the ground. Uncertain whether it would understand the command or not, Harry quietly commanded the shiny, black beast standing beside him to lay down, and found himself slightly startled when it actually obeyed.

Figuring that he was as safe as he was going to get in his current predicament and finding himself in dire need of rest, Harry (with very little hesitation) drifted off into a fitful slumber, hoping that this moment of weakness wouldn't cost him later.

But contrary to the restful night he had wished for, his dreams were filled with horrible images. The visions, which had left him during his stay in Azkaban, where the wards had weakened his magical bond to Voldemort, were back now full force, the bloodshed and mayhem that had previously filled them back, but at an almost intolerable level.

Apparently, with the 'savior of the wizarding world' locked away indefinitely for a crime he didn't do, Voldemort was free terrorize and conquer as he liked without the threat of the boy-who-lived once again reducing him to but an image of himself or (as unlikely as the outcome may be) killing him.

Although his followers wore masks (either too afraid of what the consequences of being labeled a Death Eater would be or finding secrecy too important for their operations to give it up) and it was therefore impossible to identify whether they were returning members or new ones, Voldemort's ranks had grown by at least ten fold what they were before Harry's convenient removal from the picture.

Robed in black velvet and hidden behind white masks (ironically painted the color of innocence), the multitudes of servants were spread before their master, bowing low to him, so that they were practically kissing the dark emerald rug beneath them, in an uncharacteristic sign of inferiority.

Watching this nightmare unfold before him, Harry vaguely wondered how the likes of Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange could lower themselves to such a state. Not that he cared or anything, but they had always seemed so proud and arrogant. Bowing to one of the what they condescendingly called halfbloods seemed to defy the very reason why they had joined the snake faced bastard in the first place, and yet somewhere amongst the many indefinable forms, there they were.

Did they not know who Voldemort (or rather Tom Riddle) was, or did they just not care? Perhaps being the heir of Slytherin made him a worthy leader in their minds, or maybe they recognized the fact that he was the only means by which to achieve their racist goals. Were they planning to usurp him once they had conquered enough of the wizarding world to be able to control it themselves? But no matter how hard Harry tried; he could not come up with a plausible reason why even one of the Slytherins would want to become a henchman for a vengeful wizard so disgusted by his own father that he would resort to infusing his blood with that of a snake's (for surely there was no other explanation) to rid him of the tainted half.

The followers were shifting now, coming to a standing position before shuffling around hurriedly and forming a large circle in the center of the expansive, cathedral like room that they occupied, at Voldemort's orders. One of them was then singled out, beckoned forward, before being spoken to (though Harry could not overhear what was said), then bowing low before making their way towards the grand doors, that rivaled those at Hogwarts (no easy feat), and calling forward a couple dozen wizards robed as those assembled inside, though wearing no mask to obscure their features.

A large gap in the circle was made for them to pass through, closing once they did so. The one who had brought them forward rejoined the ranks and was lost in their midst, no longer distinguishable from the rest. The unmasked continued forward, forming a small circle around Voldemort, who stood in the very center, and once in place sunk to their knees and placed their foreheads upon the elaborate carpeting, their hands stretched out before them in a gesture of reverence.

One by one he called them up, beckoned them to the middle of the circle. They didn't look him in the eye, keeping their heads lowered respectfully and their eyes cast down to the floor. They bent down and kissed his boots when they reached him, doing so with the utmost care and honor despite the humiliation such an act would usually spawn. Apparently, the promise of power could make a person do things that they would normally not.

Once done with formalities, they would rise again, lifting their left sleeve as they did so, carefully pushing the fabric so that it pooled at the inside of their elbow, leaving ample space for their soon-to-be master to work. Voldemort would then take a hold of the left wrist of the new recruit, holding the arm so that it lay at a 90 degree angle, palm up. Then, drawing his wand from folds of his own elaborate, black robe, Voldemort would point it to the exposed skin right above the wrist and mutter the incantation that never failed to induce a pain filled cry from it's recipient.

And yet they all tried their damndest to contain the shriek, every single one of them. It made them appear weak, human like those that they had themselves rendered a similar cry from with a dark curse similar to that which was now being used on them. They taunted those they tortured for being so weak as to emit a yelp or cry of pain. But here _they_ were; no better than the 'inferior' muggles; willingly becoming servants, followers, based off of some faulty promise and a twisted dream gone awry.

They were all branded now, the skin which had not even an hour ago been smooth and unblemished now sported a skull with a snake twisting it's way through it (the Dark Mark) and an angry red patch surrounding the new tattoo. They had each been given a mask, the other signifier of their acceptance into the ranks and service of the Dark Lord, and had hastily put it on in an attempt to hide the grimaces of pain almost all of the wore and the biting of the lip in an attempt to keep from screaming aloud once more.

Harry wanted to rip the masks off, to see the pain twisting their features once again. They _deserved_ it, filthy Death Eater scum that they were. The fact that he recognized some of the faces amongst the new recruits, most of them Slytherins he had at some point gone to school with, a few of them Ravenclaws, didn't lessen the malice he felt towards them and all of those assembled before Voldemort.

They, the Death Eaters, _they_ were the ones that deserved to be put in the depths of Azkaban and never released. _They_ were the ones who had committed the horrible atrocities that would earn them a cell in the island fortress. And yet it was he, Harry Potter, 'the savior' who had ended up in that hellhole. How the hell had it come to _that_?

If the wizarding world was either that blind or that stupid, to put _him_ in jail rather than the bastards now kneeling in front of the merciless Voldemort, then maybe they _deserved_ whatever the evil snake-faced fucker had in store for them. Besides, it's not like he was going to save them now, not after all the thanks he had gotten for his efforts so far. And with Harry out of the picture, there was no one to save them from the darkness that threatened to consume the wizarding world.

As Harry drifted out of the vision and into a deep, dreamless sleep, his thoughts left the ghost of a small, ruthless smile on his face. And despite all of his misgivings, despite the horrible vision that he had witnessed, despite everything; Harry had the first restful night's sleep he'd had in ages.

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Author's Note: I'm so sorry it has taken me so long to post. I hope this chapter meets everyone's expectations. I wasn't completely satisfied with it myself, I might have to come back and revise it later, but I thought it best to post it as is as soon as possible. Anyways, thanks for all of the lovely reviews! Now, to answer everybody's questions...

Samara-Morgan-101: Yes, they will eventually find him. I hope that doesn't ruin the story. Harry could have a nice life in France, but without all the wonderful angst and drama the run-ins with Harry's past create, I don't think the story would be very interesting.

Krazy Jade: First off, I'm glad you like the story! Secondly, congratulations! I was wondering when someone would figure out that all of the chapter titles were names of Linkin Park songs.

lmill123: Sorry, but Harry really _was_ possessed by Voldemort. How exactly that happened will be explained later on, but it really did happen that way. However, it is true that Dumbledore _could_ have kept Harry out of jail while still making sure he wasn't a risk to anybody (including himself.) And I'm afraid that Harry and Draco will almost certainly _not_ be working together. Although Draco hates Dumbledore, I really can't see him going out of his way to help Harry (since he hates him with a passion) and wouldn't do anything explicitly against Voldemort's (and consequently his father's) orders. I don't know whether or not Draco will necessarily be a Death Eater (or on his way to becoming one,) but even if he isn't, that doesn't mean he's going to pal up with Harry. The whole Harry leaking stuff to the paper idea wouldn't work either. Harry is on the run, not only would no one believe him if he sent them an owl detailing his innocence (remember that only the people present when Dumbledore was explaining the situation and Voldemort and his Death Eaters, none of whom would publicly declare Harry's innocence, know the truth), but at this point he doesn't really give a fuck what the world thinks of him and isn't going to take the time to bother trying to change the public opinion, which would probably be a futile attempt anyway. Hope that doesn't burst your bubble; thanx for reviewing!

No Name Reviewer: You're right; I _have_ updated some of my other fics since I've updated this one. There is one very simple reason for that: I ran into a bit of writer's block. Unfortunately, I don't have this story all planned out in my head, so sometimes I tend to write myself into a bit of a hole and it takes me a while to figure out how to dig myself out of it and leave room for the story to grow. A lot of times I run into the problem where I have no clue what I want to do next for the story, so it takes me a while to update. Thanks for pointing out some mistakes (I could probably use a beta reader), I'll try to go back through and fix them, but that can be rather tedious, so I'm not really sure when I'll get around to it.

jpthug12: I have no intention of making this a slash story (though I do like slash.) That said, I also have to add that I don't plan on there being _any_ pairing in this story. I really don't think that Harry would feel comfortable getting close to anyone, considering what's happened, though he might get in a 'relationship' with someone to manipulate them and get what he wants/needs, though it probably wouldn't be anyone from the books (Don't worry, though, I _don't_ write Mary Sues.) But we'll see...I'm not really sure what's going to happen yet.


	10. Easier to Run

Summary: Harry Potter-the perfect little savior...the convenient scapegoat whenever the wizarding world has a problem, or needs somebody to blame. They've condemned him...to Azkaban. It's a hard place to survive, even harder still to come out as the same, naïve person that went in.

Disclaimer: I own nothing; if I did, I would be rich and famous and wouldn't be writing fan fiction.

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CHAPTER TEN: EASIER TO RUN

He awoke with the sun the next morning, its slanted golden rays shining onto his pale face. Pale from all the time spent locked up tight, where the sun could never reach (they wouldn't want it to bring hopng himself get so worked up over what had turned out to be nothing.

_But what if the thestral really _had_ left me_? He questioned himself, allowing himself to realize, perhaps for the first time, how susceptible he was to being caught. And it didn't matter _who_ caught him; the muggle authorities, ministry officials, Voldemort...once he was found, they would all know. No matter what, he _can't_ allow himself to get caught by _anyone_.

And that meant that he couldn't allow himself to stay in any one place too long. Although he was fairly certain that no one had seen him here, so far; it was time to move. Besides, 

_But what if the thestral really _had_ left me_? He questioned himself, allowing himself to realize, perhaps for the first time, how susceptible he was to being caught. And it didn't matter _who_ caught him; the muggle authorities, ministry officials, Voldemort...once he was found, they would all know. No matter what, he _can't_ allow himself to get caught by _anyone_.

And that meant that he couldn't allow himself to stay in any one place too long. Although he was fairly certain that no one had seen him here, so far; it was time to move. Besides, he hadn't had anything to eat or drink in quite some time; he would need to remedy that as soon as possible.

"Come here," he called softly to the thestral, eager to get a move on it. As the black, winged creature trotted swiftly up to him, Harry felt more affection and trust for it than he had felt for anything in a long while. Deciding that the only one to stay loyal to him when he needed it the most deserved, at least, a name, Harry quickly raked his brain for one that would be fitting.

At first he was thinking something along the lines of Shadow or Midnight, maybe obsidian, for the thestrals dark, black colouring, but it didn't seem personal enough and that just didn't seem right. This thestral was the only one in the world who Harry felt really understood him now. He knew it didn't really make any sense, but he could tell that the creature was more intelligent than one might assume; he really _did_ understand. _Or maybe I'm just loosing my mind._ Either way, the thestral was special to Harry, important.

Arcane. That was what he would name the thestral. It came to him almost out of nowhere. It seemed a fitting name, though, and it was as if the horse had somehow planted it in his mind. Odd—but that wasn't really important right now. Let's see, arcane...it means known by few, understood by few, something like that. Yes...it was perfect. He whispered the name he had chosen for the thestral quietly, over and over again, as he petted the oddly textured skin on its muzzle. Arcane nuzzled against his hand, signalling his approval of the name (and the petting.)

Speaking of names, the name Harry Potter certainly wouldn't be useful anymore. If he were to meet anyone in the near future, he would need to come up with an alias of some sort...and find some new clothes, get washed up, a haircut, etc. He knew enough French to get by here...at least he hoped so.

Hmm...a name...what could he call himself? It had to have meaning, just as Arcane did, but how would he come up with the name? Maybe from history or Latin or...something. It had to be dark, to suit him now. Let's see...what was the name of that spell that would transform an object into a black raven? Coreck—no, Crobet—no, Corbett...yes, that was it. Black raven...it would certainly do nicely. And Corbett was Latin, so the French wouldn't think it too weird, would they?

So what if they do? It's not like I'm going to be talking to many people anyway. And for a last name...Moore; I've always liked that name, plus it's pretty common. All right, now for a cover story. I could be an orphan—that much is true—who ran away from his horrible foster parents that abused and neglected him (sounds like the Dursleys.) Hell, I don't even have to lie really.

Of course, names of people and places will have to be changed and I won't be able to answer _every_ question someone might ask. But how to avoid answering without them getting suspicious? I could always tell them that 'I don't want to talk about it, the memories are just too painful.' Ha! People are saps when it comes to sentimental bullshit; it'll work for sure.

_I guess I'd better get out of here now_, Harry, or rather Corbett as he would be known from now on (at least to the rest of the world), decided with a sigh. First things first; he needed food, water, and some new clothes (for wizard's robes would draw far more attention to him than he would like.)

"Okay, Arcane, you're going to need to take me to a nearby city. I don't want it to be so big that someone could possibly recognize me, but it can't be too small, I don't want to be remembered. And we wouldn't wanted to be spotted flying out in broad daylight; you can make me invisible too when you fly, can't you?" Harry spoke softly to the thestral, peering imploringly at it as if searching for the answer to his question. When the Arcane lifted his head proudly and shifted his wings in what Harry supposed to be indignation, he concluded that the horse was insulted that he had even had to ask. "Good," Harry responded, rubbing the thestral's neck fondly. "And I didn't mean to insult you, you know," he added as an afterthought, giving the creature a mock glare.

Arcane merely gave a soft snort, as if to say that he wasn't surprised that Harry hadn't meant any offence and that he should have assumed Harry would be so foolish as to ask such a question. Harry merely rolled his eyes at the thestral, otherwise ignoring the gesture, and moved to Arcane's left side, where he could easily mount. Arcane unfolded his wing and placed it conveniently low enough that Harry could step on it and therefore mount easier, almost as an apology for his teasing of just a moment ago.

Harry gratefully accepted the offer, mounting with relative ease, compared to the other times he had ridden a thestral, and was soon situated comfortable atop his new companion. He had a hold of the mane, the course hairs clasped firmly between his fingers, and his legs lay comfortably up near the thestral's shoulders, where they were out of the way of the massive wings. Giving a small nudge with the heels of his feet, barely hard enough for Arcane to feel, he signalled that he was ready for take off.

Once again he felt the familiar sensation of air swirling around him, disturbed by beating wings, and then the imminent leap into the sky, rising up into the air as the wings furiously pumped to keep both him and Arcane afloat. It was exhilarating and terrifying all at the same time, everything he had come to associate with riding atop a thestral.

They rose higher and higher until they were soaring amidst the clouds. As they rose, Harry felt his spirits rise as well; it was so hard to think of all of the people out to get him when the world looked like a city of ants spread beneath him, the people occupying it only tiny dots in a sea of shifting scenery. It was pleasant; unlike the time he had flown the Ford Angelia with Ron (_Why did _that _memory have to surface now?_), for the wind blowing in his face offset the heat of the sun blaring down on him from above.

The ride was over all too soon and Harry was surprised that he felt that way; he had never particularly liked riding a thestral before now. Arcane had apparently, with what Harry could only assume was excellent eyesight, seen a suitable city down bellow.

They descended swiftly and Harry was almost afraid that they would crash, but at the last minute, Arcane pulled up, and gently landed with a soft thud on the grassy outskirts of the town. Harry dismounted carefully, hesitantly ordering Arcane to stay put for the time being.

He took in the sight of the town for a moment; the four-lane highway leading up to it, the many tall buildings that towered above the rest of the city some way off, and the growing suburbs that surrounded the city center; it would do. He strode swiftly up to the nearby houses, ones that were quite some distance out from the rest of town and hurridly surveyed the area before deciding to enter a blue house with white trim that was the closest to him; from the looks of it, no one was home.

It was a nice house, medium in size, nothing extraordinary, but good enough for any middle class family. There was a healthy, green lawn and a few vibrant flowers in the front, with a tree placed here and there among them. There was no garage, but a slanted, concrete driveway big enough for two cars lay positioned in front of the house; no cars were present at the time, though.

Making his way up the flower-lined path that led up to the front door, Harry hastily took one more look around him to make sure no one was watching, wouldn't want any nosy neighbours (like his Aunt Petunia had been) to see him break into the house (if it came to that.) Determining that the coast was clear, he proceeded to ring the doorbell.

After three rings and no answer, he assumed that no one was home. He first tried the doorknob, but it was locked. Walking around the house, he checked every window to see if any had been left ajar, or at the very least unlocked.

It was, naturally, the last window that he tried that happened to slip open at his touch. There were no screens (which made breaking in a great deal easier), so he was able to crawl inside once he had slid the glass over far enough so that he would be able to do so. Slipping into the house and carefully closing the window behind him, he set out first to eat and drink something; showering and changing clothes could wait until later.

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Author's Notes: There! Another chapter finished and only four days after I posted the last one! I must say, I'm rather proud of myself. Well, I hope you like it. I'm glad that everyone enjoyed the last chapter! I don't know what exactly is going to happen to Harry, yet, but he'll be getting cleaned up pretty soon here and, who knows, he might even start a new life in France. I'm not really sure how long the thestral (a.k.a. Arcane) is going to be staying with Harry, but he's kind of become an important character, at least for the moment. I don't know what will happen with him (I really didn't know when I sat down to write the chapter that he was going to play such a big part in it), but if people like him, then he'll probably stick around. Thanks for reading; see you all next chapter! 


	11. Lying From You

Summary: Harry Potter-the perfect little savior...the convenient scapegoat whenever the wizarding world has a problem, or needs somebody to blame. They've condemned him...to Azkaban. It's a hard place to survive, even harder still to come out as the same, naïve person that went in.

Disclaimer: I own nothing; if I did, I would be rich and famous and wouldn't be writing fan fiction.

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CHAPTER ELEVEN: LYING FROM YOU

Bending down in front of the window to pick up and take with him the food and drinks, which he had placed in a small, plastic shopping bag for convenience's sake, that he had set there earlier, Harry felt a gnawing sensation—one not caused by hunger—that he hadn't felt since before Azkaban: Guilt. He had broken into someone else's home, eaten their food, used their shower, and stolen their clothes, the ones which he happened now to be wearing.

_There's nothing I can do about it_, he told himself. _I don't have anyone that I can turn to and stopping for a handout would not only waste more time than I am willing to take, but it could also draw unwanted attention. Same goes for my Gringott's account. Not like I can just waltz right into the bank and ask to access the Potter vault. I mean sure, Sirius was able to access _his_ on the run—it's not like the goblins care—but I just don't think I should take the chance of being caught because of my sending or receiving an owl or anything like that. Sirius was only wanted by the Ministry—Voldemort had no particular use for him and Dumbledore wasn't after him—however; _I_ am hunted by anyone and everyone._ He kept trying desperately, though unsuccessfully, to convince himself that _there was no other way_, (which logically made sense, but emotionally was simply unacceptable) and that what he had done was therefore not wrong. But he knew better.

Although he hadn't taken anything of great value or importance (unless counted by Harry's standards at this perilous time in his life), those people had done nothing to deserve what he had done to them.

He had robbed them...it was just beginning to sink in, along with the guilt. But he couldn't afford to breakdown here and now (_how ironic to think that a convicted killer would be so affected by simply stealing a few things; I doubt anyone would believe it if they were told, but it's not like they ever believed any of the other things I've told them_); it would be unsafe unsafe. If the owners came back and saw him, they would call the cops (something Harry most assuredly did _not_ need at the moment, not that it would be any more welcome later on.)

Deciding that it wouldn't do any good to dwell on his former actions at the present time (there were more pressing matters to deal with), Harry made his way back out of the window he had come in through, his arms now laden with all of the goodies he had stolen and the old, ragged clothes he had just changed out of.

Although he was loathe to recall anything even remotely associated with his time spent in Azkaban—or even the wizarding world in general—let alone keep an article of clothing invariably linking him to that part of his life, he felt disconcertingly reluctant to toss the old robe aside, although he planned to trash the rest of the 'ensemble' in the nearest garbage bin.

For some inexplicable reason, he didn't want to throw away his one connection to the past; he didn't want to forget. He didn't want to forget how he'd been framed for something he'd had absolutely no control over, didn't want to forget how the whole wizarding world—including those he had at one point considered his dearest friends—had turned against him, didn't want to forget the way he'd been scorned and ridiculed and finally dumped in a cell to rot for what had seemed like an endless string of lonely, painful weeks. But most of all, most importantly, he didn't want to forget that no matter what, you can't rely on or trust anyone but yourself, because no one else truly gives a damn and will only stick with you as long as it suits their needs.

Needless to say, though, animals were exempt from this morbid observation, though not for the reasons one might think. It's not that animals aren't smart enough to be trusted or relied upon in the first place, but rather that they aren't compelled, as humans tend to be, by greed or power or any of the other vices that seem to plague human nature.

True, an animal would try and assure its own survival above all else, but Harry understood that, he could relate to that more so than any other thing at this time. _It's not like you can blame someone for wanting to survive, _self preservation was a fundamental law of nature, after all, and Harry knew that well.

Here he was, running from a faceless foe, trying his damndest just to stay one step ahead of everyone else, just so he'd be able to live—preferably outside of the confines of Azkaban prison, for one couldn't call being locked up in Azkaban actually living.

It would be so much easier if he could just end it all, right here, right now, and no longer have to worry about any of the demons from his past that kept coming back to haunt him, but he _couldn't_. He wouldn't let those bastards get away with what they had done to him; couldn't let them win by giving them what they probably had wanted all along (especially Voldemort): his death. Besides, suicide would be rather pointless, anyway; he figured with all of his unfinished business, he would more likely than not just end up becoming a ghost, though he wasn't entirely sure it worked that way, and that was about the last thing he wanted. _Spending five years in the wizarding world was bad enough, an eternity spent there would be worse than hell._

But enough of these thoughts. They were getting him nowhere, serving only to make him more depressed than he already was (if that was possible.) Tossing everything he had been wearing earlier, save the robe (which he draped unconcernedly over his right arm), into a trash can, he made his way back towards the grassy outskirts of the town, returning to the spot where he had left Arcane.

The thestral trotted over, from where he had been grazing nearby (on the long grass they had slept amongst, though it was doubtful that Arcane actually enjoyed its taste), as he saw Harry approach. The eagerness with which the creature greeted him brought the hint of a smile to Harry's features as the small gesture touched him more deeply than he would have thought possible and quite unexpectedly.

"I've brought you something," Harry spoke playfully, concealing his 'present' for the thestral behind his back. Arcane whinnied appreciatively, nudging Harry's right shoulder with his muzzle as a sign of his impatience. Harry let out a small, amused chuckle at the act, deciding to tease the poor animal no farther. "Okay, okay," he assented, bringing forth a small package wrapped in thick, white paper from behind his back. Ripping the covering off with a hurried motion, he revealed the large slab of steak to the, now quite pleased, thestral.

The raw, bloody meat (just as was most liked by thestrals) was snatched out of Harry's outstretched hand before he could blink and was consumed just as quickly. "Guess you were just as hungry as I was," Harry commented idly aloud to Arcane. He had thought that the grass would hold the thestral over for a while, but thestrals _were_ carnivores by nature. He patted Arcane sympathetically on his well muscled shoulder, sighing loudly as he wondered if they were going to have to keep stealing things to survive.

"Well, we'd better get a move on it if we don't want to get caught now," Harry declared as a careworn look crossed his face. He accepted Arcane's help in mounting (something he was definitely _not_ good at), settled down atop his ride, and then they were off once again. Off to...well, he wasn't really sure yet, truth be told.

Maybe he could go to Lyon or Marseille or...did it really matter? Just as long as he didn't get found, anywhere would do (as long as it was muggle, of course.) How about Bordeaux—no, that was near to Beauxbatons, wasn't it? Yes, too near. Well, Nice was supposed to be lovely in autumn, right? Yes, that's where he would go; it was about as far away as you could possibly get from Britain without leaving France, perfect.

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Author's Note: Not much going on in this chapter, but you do get some more insight into Harry's thoughts and how he has changed and yet still remains somewhat of his old self. Thanks for all of the reviews. Sorry this chapter took so long to get out. It would have been out sooner, but the server, or whatever for doesn't seem to be working properly. Now on to answering your questions...

kraeg001: Glad you like the fic! About Harry's stay in Azkaban...well, I'm not entirely sure yet, but it was roughly three months that he was there. I'm saying that he got thrown in there sometime before his sixteenth birthday (yep, his life really sucks) making it sometime in July and he was in there until at least the end of September. More about how long his stay was will be mentioned later on.

Samara-Morgan-101: Arcane will be staying with Harry for a while longer, though I'm not really sure for how long. I happen to really like the thestral, though I didn't originally plan for him to be playing a big part. ;)

humg321: I know it's kind of slow at this point, but it should be speeding up a bit in the next chapter. And, about the Gringott's account, I hope I answered all of your questions about it in the fic. If you have any more questions about it, just ask. Thanks for the review!

SeaShelly3: Wow! You don't usually like HP fanfiction, but you like mine?! Well, I must say that I'm flattered! Although I don't agree with you about the slash (I happen to enjoy reading a good slash story) and I have found _many_ fics that I like on this site and are much better than mine, I'm sure. (Don't worry, though, this isn't going to turn into a slash—or any other kind of romance—story as I've mentioned in a comment to another reviewer.) About the scar: Harry is going to be in the muggle world. Remember, he's not famous there, and, even if he is known to be a criminal to the muggles, if he changes his appearance than people (especially in France) will most likely not recognize him. His scar is a pretty noticeable feature, but his hair has grown out some and so he will probably use it to cover up his scar. I have pretty much everything planned out (I think), but thanks for bringing that point up and for the review!


	12. Somewhere I Belong

Summary: Harry Potter-the perfect little savior...the convenient scapegoat whenever the wizarding world has a problem, or needs somebody to blame. They've condemned him...to Azkaban. It's a hard place to survive, even harder still to come out as the same, naïve person that went in.

Disclaimer: I own nothing; if I did, I would be rich and famous and wouldn't be writing fan fiction.

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CHAPTER TWELVE: SOMEWHERE I BELONG

_Well, _now_ what do I do? _Harry wondered helplessly as he walked along a deserted part of the sandy shore in Nice. He and Arcane had landed at a point not too far from here; it was night so they didn't have to worry as much about being caught, though they had made sure that no one was around before landing. _I suppose I could always play the poor, unfortunate orphan (That's true enough, isn't it?) and get someone to take me in out of pity or…but what will I do with Arcane? It's not like anyone will be able to see him or anything-you'd have to be either a wizard or a squib and have seen someone die to do so-but I don't just want to leave him out there all alone to fend for himself until I need him again, which I surely will. _

But as Harry paced along, contemplating the fate of the trusty thestral, said thestral, sensing what was on the boy's mind, took matters into his own hands. Harry heard the beating of Arcane's great wings and turned just in time to see him flying off into the night, looking like a demonic Pegasus. Harry wondered for a brief moment if the thestral had finally decided to leave him, before deciding that this was merely Arcane's way of letting him know that he could take care of himself and that Harry needn't worry about what to do with him.

_Are all thestrals this smart?_ Harry pondered, but couldn't remember learning anything of the sort in his Care of Magical Creatures class. _Perhaps it's just Arcane; I swear sometimes that he must be an animagus. _This thought brought him pause, as he fearfully contemplated whether or not that could be true. Seeing as there were very few animagi to began with, and none that had magical creatures as their form as far as he knew (Was it even possible?) Harry decided to dismiss the idea as one of his paranoid delusions.

Continuing along the beach, he came to the sudden conclusion that he had nowhere to sleep for the night. Could he, perhaps, go to some sort of a shelter? He didn't really know anything about them, seeing as he had never thought that he would actually be in need of one, and he had no idea where he might be able find a homeless shelter around here.

_Should I just go to one of the churches and see if they will help me? _he wondered idly, in somewhat of a fix as far as what to do Harry wasn't a particularly religious person; in fact, he wasn't too sure about his religious affiliation, though he celebrated Christmas every year (at least he did when he was at Hogwarts), but as he had heard many times before "desperate times call for desperate measures." Cliché, yes, but it _was_ true.

_I suppose I could always sleep outside again, _he thought with reluctance, _What if someone finds me, though? _In fact, the more he thought about it, the better the whole church idea was beginning to sound. _Surely they'll have some sort of shelter for the needy? And I could most definitely be considered 'needy' at the moment. _

Somewhat uncertainly, Harry resigned himself to search for the church as soon as possible. He wasn't really sure what time it was (he still didn't even know what day it was either), though it _was_ dark outside, but he figured that some place must be open. If all else fails he could always sleep on a bench in a park somewhere or…something. After all, anything was better than where he'd been sleeping for the past…however long it had been.

Idly kicking a pebble that happened to be in his path, Harry let out a long suffering sigh, the chaotic and enervating state of the past few days finally starting to really wear on him. He had spent so long in Azkaban-it had felt like years-with nothing to keep him busy but his near constant pacing and his even more consuming thoughts of betrayal and despair. And now…so much had happened in so short a time; it was overwhelming.

He had thought, of course, of escaping, but he had never actually considered the possibility of what he would do should he get out. Perhaps he would have, except for the fact that the dementors seemed to suck away any happy thoughts you may experience. Therefore any time he had allowed himself to dwell on the chance of freedom had ended morbidly; sometimes with his imminent recapture or being caught by Death Eaters after all of his trouble. So, what now should he do? He hadn't the time, like he had in Azkaban, to ponder endless possibilities until a brilliant plan was eventually formulated; he had to come up with something, and quick.

How long would it take them to track him down? Did Voldemort, the Ministry, or Dumbledore have forces in France? Would he have to keep running for the rest of his sorry life? A string of questions swam through Harry's mind as he allowed himself to really dwell on the predicament he currently found himself in. He kept walking as he did so, going nowhere in particular, as he had nowhere in particular in mind to go to. His thoughts overwhelmed him as he realized how utterly hopeless his whole situation was, even if it was better than being locked away in Azkaban.

He just wanted his old life back. The one where he had been happy…even if it was all just an illusion. He would take that illusion over this harsh reality any day. But he couldn't; there was no going back. And it's not like he could go back now, knowing what he does, even should his name be cleared.

He was brought back to reality as he bumped into something in his mindless wandering. Blinking and shaking his head slightly as if to clear it of his musings, he glanced up into the kind and compassionate blue eyes of an elderly old woman who he had, apparently, just bumped into.

"Etes-vous bon?" she asked in lilting French. Harry knew enough of the language to understand what she was saying, it translating to, 'Are you okay?' if he remembered correctly, and was almost at a loss when he heard the concern intermingled in her words. It had been so long since anybody had actually cared, and coming from a stranger…He just stood there for a moment not knowing what to say before he realized that she was still looking at him and waiting for a response. He nodded his head deftly in reply although he felt somewhat hollow doing so as he knew the answer to be most decidedly untrue.

The elderly woman seemed to see through his diminutive response as she peered at him with her wise and knowing, though kind, eyes. She shook her head from side to side slightly, as if to silently tell him that she did not buy into his answer; Harry couldn't help but wonder what he was going to do if he couldn't even manage to lie convincingly to this one old woman. "I'm alright," he spoke at last in a an attempt to pacify her, realizing too late that he had spoken the words in English rather than the French language that he should have.

His eyes widened like a deer caught in headlights as his mistake hit him, and he attempted to push past the old woman then and be off and on his way—wherever that may be—but was stopped by a gentle touch to his shoulder and a few kind words. "Are you lost? Do you need some help?" the woman asked worriedly, as Harry turned somewhat warily around to face her. He shrugged his shoulders somewhat uncertainly in response to her inquiries, uncertain whether he should confide his current plight to this stranger. "Where are you headed?" the woman spoke again at length, peering curiously at Harry's down turned face as she spoke.

"I-I don't know..." Harry confessed hesitantly, deciding that there was no real reason why he should not tell this seemingly congenial woman that much of the truth. He didn't look at her as she spoke and, therefore, missed the sad, troubled look of pity that she sent him after hearing his words.

"Have you nowhere to stay?" the woman pressed with concern as her wrinkled face knotted with worry as she looked upon the young boy in front of her. Harry managed to shake his head in response to her latest question as tears pricked insistently at his eyes, though he did not allow them to fall. "You do not have parents or friends around here?" she continued, and Harry once again shook his head in the negative. "You are not running away from home, are you?" she asked him sternly at last, though her gaze softened as Harry shook his head once more.

"I-I don't have a home," he replied brokenly, feeling his eyes well up with his unshed tears. He stiffed at that admission and hastily rubbed the back of his sleeve against his nose before rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands in a useless attempt to keep from crying.

The elderly woman looked sadly at the pitiful creature before her, her heart going out to the poor teenage boy. "Come with me," she finally said, gently and yet compellingly. Harry found himself unable to resist her insistent words and soft touch leading him down the cobbled street in his current state of distress.

He finally managed to pull himself together a little as they came up the walkway of a small, quaint, little house that Harry assumed to be the woman's. He stiffened slightly in apprehension when he realized that she intended for him to come inside it, his thoughts running ramped with images of being trapped inside should he step through the threshold. Realizing that he had nowhere else to go and no one else to turn to, though, he managed to quash his erratic fears and step cautiously into the small house.

"You will stay here tonight," he heard the kind woman speak up from behind him as she closed the worn front door. It took a moment for her offer to sink into Harry's muddled mind as he gazed somewhat dazedly about the family room they had entered into. Once her words did manage to form coherent thoughts in Harry's brain, he turned around sharply, nearly loosing his balance in the process, as he stared in confused wonderment at the generous elderly woman. She smiled slightly at him in response, her eyes lighting up with kindness as she held out her slightly gnarled hand to introduce herself. "I'm Gisela," she informed him plainly, as Harry slowly placed his hand around hers and shook it uncertainly.

"I'm...Harry," he told her truthfully, in a quiet tone, feeling for some odd reason that he could trust this woman with his true name, though he still looked somewhat frightened at what her response to it would be, though he could see no logical reason why he should be. His fears were dispelled as Gisela smiled pleasantly at his response and continued to shake his hand, welcoming Harry—just plain Harry—into her cozy home.

TO BE CONTINUED...

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AUTHOR'S NOTES: I am _soooooo_ sorry that I haven't updated in such a long time. As I said on my bio page (not that anyone reads it anyway) my dad took my laptop that the half finished chapter 12 was on up to Canada with him for a month and so I couldn't get the file back to work on it for the longest time. Also, when school started up again, I was left with very little time to write. And then there's the whole writer's block thing…anyways, I'm _really_ sorry; I'll try to update regularly once again although I'm not certain how often I'll be able to do so. By the way, thank you so much for all of the reviews! I love receiving them and they really help encourage me to continue with the fic! Now on to individual responses to those who had questions and such...

Samara-Morgan-101: Don't worry, Harry will have a while before he is forced to deal with his past again. He's going to be very cautious, so he won't be easy to track.

Kraeg001: Everything was confiscated when Harry was sent to Azkaban. Although it's not pertinent to the story at this point, I would say that his stuff is locked away somewhere in the ministry or something like that and that Hedwig is being used as a school owl. Of course, that all is libel to change if either his stuff or Hedwig becomes an important part of the story later on. And about Harry's reaction, the only thing that I can really say is that he was so shocked and horrified that he couldn't even react. Besides, he's not exactly in the best physical shape since being locked up in Azkaban, but he did chew Dumbledore and the rest of them out. When Dumbledore said that Azkaban was the best alternative, he meant that it was pretty much the best option that they had on what to do with Harry all around. They had to do something to make sure that Harry couldn't be possessed by Voldemort again and the wizarding world wanted Harry to receive the dementor's kiss. Dumbledore was trying to say that what he did was the best considering the circumstances. I hope that answers your questions!

Megan: Yes, I do like Linkin Park, though not as much as my use of their song titles as chapter titles would suggest. As you said, they fit, and it's rather hard to think up good chapter titles. It's just easier to use the song titles and they give the titles more meaning too, I think. I used song titles as chapter titles for one of my other fics too, and I didn't use Linkin Park for it.

Sugar witch: Thank you for your very enthusiastic review! I'm glad you like the story!

ManicReversed: Yep, this story is very dark so far and is going to continue to be that way for quite some time.

celestial light: I'm glad you like the plot so far and my depiction of Harry. Thanks for the compliments and taking the time to review!

john1234: I'm so honored that you want to add me to your c2 group! Too bad they don't except R rated fics (which is really stupid). I wish that I could make a PG-13 one, but I don't think that the administrators for would allow me to post this story twice and I don't want to get in trouble for having the rating too low (cause I use the f word quite a bit in this story).

sparklyjeans: I'm glad you think the titles fit. Everyone does seem very cruel and manipulative, don't they? They are, for the most part, although you are only getting everything from Harry's point of view. There were some people, of course, who thought that Harry was innocent (and Dumbledore knew so) but Harry never realized that and believes that everybody is out to get him (which is true for the most part). And about Sirius, most people don't know that he was innocent (i.e. the ministry, the wizarding world in general). Those that do know that he was innocent also know that Peter Pettigrew turned out to be a death eater although he seemed to be the victim. And people always seem to be turning on Harry in the books (like the whole Chamber of Secrets incident and how hardly anyone believed that he hadn't put his name in the Goblet of Fire). The reason why most everyone believed Harry to be guilty even after Sirius will be further explained in later chapters.

Quillian: Thanks for reviewing and, no, it won't be necessary for you to review all of the chapters again. I think you are right and that you have reviewed this story before and I thank you for that, though it sucks that they all got deleted--along with your account and everything else. I really have no idea what I would do should that ever happen to me and I just want to let you know that I am very sorry that that happened (though it happened like a month and a half ago now because I have taken so long to update). ;)

Dreamweaver: You brought up an interesting point. The problem of concealing the give away lightening bolt scar is something that seems to be approached in many different ways, though your suggestion was something I don't think I have ever seen before either. I suppose it might work...though the fact that it is a curse scar might make the plastic surgery option one that wouldn't work. Then again, I guess we will never know for sure unless JK comes right out and tells us, which I highly doubt. Thanks for your insightful review and for reading the story. ;)

Dirbatua: Harry forgive those bastards? Not going to happen any time soon, so don't worry. He might eventually come to terms with what happened, though he will certainly never trust them again or truly forgive them.

Kodoku Wolf: I'm glad that you love the fic! I hadn't really thought too much about Remus as of yet, but I'm pretty sure that he will be in the story later (meaning, of course, that he probably isn't dead). I'm glad that you think my way of going about the escape, etc., was very realistic. Although I do like the 'Harry suddenly becomes all powerful and can now defy all the rules of wizardry' fics, I do not find that they are very plausible within the confines of the cannon (not that anything in my story would happen in the actual story, but whatever). Anyways, thanks for reviewing!


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